


When We Collide

by silversparrow



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drug Use, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-08 22:09:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silversparrow/pseuds/silversparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis live parallel lives where nothing much happens, but when the lines begin to intersect, they find themselves in situations bigger than either of them have ever bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Louis Tomlinson can feel the tears brimming around his eyes as he looks at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. A large bruise covers the area under his eyes, half the size of his fist, the deep purple hue slowly turning to black. The entire half of his face seems numb, but when he reaches up with his hand and reluctantly touches the center, he winces in pain, a thousand needles stinging where his fingers left his skin.  
  
He looks at himself again. Aside from the bruise, there's a cut on his lip, right in the middle. It's healing already, he can see, but should he smile even a little bit, he knows it's going to send blood gushing out, and he'd have to start the healing process all over again. Not that he has anything to smile about at the moment. In fact, he's not even sure  _what_ he's feeling. Should he be angry? Scared? Confused? Sad, maybe? It seems like a combination of all of them, and he softly taps a finger on the cut like it's going to make a difference.  
  
Just like he thought staying with Zayn after the first time was ever going to make a difference.  
  
He should have left, left Zayn the first time he struck him. He didn't know why he believed Zayn's empty words, or why he was  _stupid_  enough to actually think that he would ever keep his promises. Was it because he was drunk at the time and he didn't know what he was doing? Was it because he held him close at night saying he's sorry and that he never meant to do those things and somehow, that made everything better? Louis tries to think of the reason as he turns on the faucet, and it's then that he finally lets the tears fall.  
  
The warm water feels good on his skin. It calms down the angry bruise that he wishes would just drip away with the water, and he swears he can feel the weight of Zayn's hand washing off of him. He rubs the water along his arm as well, hoping it would carry away everything that happened that night—the tightness of Zayn's grip on his wrists when he tried to fight back, the cries that felt so unnatural and vulgar in his throat because he never imagined Zayn's temper to reach this far, the tears on the bedsheets when Zayn struck his face once, twice, too many and too painful to count.  
  
He can't look at his face anymore. He turns the faucet off and wipes his face gently with a towel. He throws it in the sink, flicks the light switch off, and opens the door as slowly as he can, trying his best to keep the creaking from reaching their room. With quick, light steps, he moves across the hallway and stops when he reaches a closet. It's full of things they haven't used in a while: fishing poles, snowboards, ugly matching Christmas sweaters gathering dust, things they used to do and wear when they were first together, back when everything seemed like nothing was ever going to go wrong because they loved each other and that's all that really mattered.  
  
He pushes them all aside and pulls out the largest suitcase he could find.  
  
He can't do it anymore. He can't keep hoping to himself that it's going to be better tomorrow because the moment it seems like it is, seems like Zayn's finally come back to his senses and that it's all going to stop and be okay because he loves him so much, something pulls him further away and he's back at square one, trying to figure out if it's all going to play out the same way the next day when he opens his eyes again.  
  
He leaves the suitcase outside the door to their bedroom and he walks inside as quietly as he can. Zayn's snoring off in the corner, a grating sound that wakes his bruise until it's pulsating again, angrier than ever, and it makes it hard to concentrate on the open closet door before him. He shakes his head and begins to pull out clothes in their hangers, piling them on his shoulders so he doesn't have to go back and hear that sound again. He grabs a pair of shoes down at the bottom and quickly makes his way back to the suitcase, where he stuffs everything in as neatly as he can, and it all fits just enough for him to close it and secure the latches.  
  
He's almost there.  
  
He takes one last trip back inside the room to get his wallet and his mobile, and along the way, he stops, something catching his eyes. He can just see Zayn's face in what little light the moon outside provided. Back then, he thought Zayn was the most beautiful person he had ever seen—how his eyes twinkled when he smiled, how not one hair was ever out of place, how good and sweet and  _perfect_  Louis's name sounded in his voice.  
  
Zayn is dead, and the man sleeping in his bed wearing his skin is nothing more than a stranger.  
  
He takes one last look before turning around, and out of nowhere, the tears have started falling again. He can hear himself breathing heavily, and he's horrified to hear each inhale becoming a whimper, and he clamps his hands over his mouth to make it stop, make it  _all_  stop. He drowns his sobs in his chest until it hurts and he's shaking and he's scared. He can't see anymore. He rubs his eyes with his fists but they don't stop coming, and he leaves the room just in time before he's reduced to a crumpled mess in the corner with his knees pressing on his forehead, arms wrapped around his legs, chest heaving in and out, in and out. It hurts to breathe and he hugs himself tighter because he doesn't know what to do.  
  
It takes him an eternity to calm down.  
  
He collects his suitcase and grips his mobile tightly in his fist. With a deep breath, he walks past the living room and takes out his keys in the bowl sitting on a table next to the door. He doesn't look back, he doesn't want to remember how things were, how things are now, and he doesn't want to know whether the soft  _”Louis”_  coming from behind him was real or imagined. He's tired and he doesn't want to imagine anymore.  
  
He closes his eyes, opens the door, and takes a step outside.  
  
::  
  
Harry Styles sits cross-legged on his bed, shuffling through the seemingly endless sheets of music spread out all over his bed as he plays with the brown curls on his messy, messy head. Some of them are half-finished, most of them are empty. He's only finished a handful and they're safely tucked inside the notebook on his suitcase, and he wonders why he suddenly stopped writing them. Some held promise, others are completely off the map and he doesn't even know how to start, much less know what to do with them. He crumples the bad ones and shoots them into the garbage can across his room. They all bounce off the rim and he sighs.  _Well, there goes basketball_ , he tells himself, and he hops on his feet and collects all the remaining sheets, filing them neatly in the notebook and stuffing it under some of his clothes.  
  
Something in the back of his head's saying  _just how sure are you you'll make it big?_  and, honestly, he doesn't know how to answer. Dropping out of school and pursuing a career in music seems like a future without much promise in regular situations, and sure, he's thought about other alternatives. Maybe he can become a doctor like his parents wanted him to be, or maybe even a chef. He  _does_  love food. But everytime he tries to set his mind on one thing, when he thinks he's ready take his head out of the gutter, pass all his classes, get his degree, become successful, maybe even have kids along the way, his hands always seem to find their way to his guitar and nothing else matters. And he strums and sings sad songs and happy songs and walk around the house serenading anything—silverware, the expensive china his mother keeps on tight lock in the cupboard, his reflection—and somehow, seeing himself playing in his reflection made him feel better than anything else in the world, and that maybe he  _will_  make it. All he needs is his guitar.  
  
A knock on the door pulls him out of his thoughts and he walks over to his closet to get more clothes.  
  
“It's open,” he says as he takes out a jumper, and his mother peeks from behind the door.  
  
“How's everything going?” she asks, sitting on the side of his bed and wondering where on earth had the floor gone.  
  
“Great,” Harry replies, putting the jumper back and taking out the one next to it. “Sorry 'bout the mess, I'll clean up before I leave, I promise.”  
  
“It's your room, Harry, I don't need to tell you how it's supposed to look,” she says with a smile, and Harry lifts his head and grins back. He takes the jumper out of the hanger and folds it as neatly as he can.  
  
“I still can't believe he said yes,” Harry tells her, striding over to his suitcase and placing the garment right at the top. “I really did think he'd have sent me to boarding school the next day.”  
  
“Yeah, that was quite a surprise, wasn't it?” Mrs. Styles says with a laugh.  
  
Harry closes the case and takes his time to secure the latches. “Thanks for trying to convince him, though. I want this, I really do.”  
  
“I know you do, sweetie. I know you do. And you're so good at it, I just can't sit around and let your talent go to waste.”  
  
Harry laughs. “Is that a purely objective view or just my mum speaking?”  
  
“A little bit of both, I suppose,” she says, her eyes following him as he picks up the case and sets it gently on the bed. “Look at you. You're all grown up now, and soon you'll have to start making your own decisions. I'll miss you.”  
  
Harry looks up and he feels his breath hitch his throat. Before this, the least of his worries were not catching the bus on time or missing his stop and having to go all the way around or that his flatmate might end up not liking him and telling him to hit the road and that he'll find someone else. But he doesn't know how to react to this. A million thoughts pound his head all at once and he swears he can hear them buzzing around in his head, and he looks at his mum and she looks at him, expecting him to speak, and for the first time in his life, his voice fails him. His heart starts to race.  
  
Is he ready?  
  
No more Dad fixing things when he messes up, no more Mum to make everything better when everything just can't seem to go right. What little independence he had growing up doesn't do anything to prepare him for this moment, and for a moment, he second-guesses himself again. What if nothing happens and he's just wasted a big part of his life chasing a dream without any guarantees and the more he tries, the more doors close, and he's going to end up going back home with nothing to show for it and he can just see the disappointment in his parents' face and he'll have to turn his back on the thing that matters most to him.  
  
His eyes begin to sting.  
  
“I'll miss you, too,” he says, his voice breaking, and he can feel the first teardrop rolling down his cheek. He tries to wipe them off because he doesn't want his mother to see him like that, because he wants to leave the house strong and ready and determined, but his mother sees them and she stands up and gives him a hug. The smell of her perfume makes the tears fall harder and he wraps his arms around her, holding her tight, and buries his face in her chest, whispering  _”I'll miss you, I'll miss you, I'll miss you”_  over and over again until it's one garbled mess and he's not even sure what he's saying anymore. But his mother understands and she shushes him and pats the back of his head and does those things that make him feel better the way only his mother can and that's when he lets it all out.  
  
“I know it'll be difficult at first, sweetie, but you'll have to hang on,” she tells him, “You have to make mistakes because it's a part of life and even the best of people make them. Constantly. So don't you worry one bit, I know you'll make it. I can already see your name in lights and concert halls filled to the brim, and me and your dad will be right there in the front row cheering you on. Just know that when things go bad, you can always give us a call, and you can always come back and we'll fix it together, okay?”  
  
Harry nods and lifts his head up and looks at his mother, the wetness in his eyes dissolving her into circles and lines, and he wipes his face with his sleeves and sees her smiling at him, and he laughs and tries to smile back.  
  
“I love you, okay?  _We_  love you,” she tells him, and he nods and he hugs her one more time.  
  
“I love you, too,” he whispers, and he brings himself back over to the suitcase, rubbing his eyes and catching his breath as he takes it by the handle.  
  
“Have you got everything?” Harry nods and pats his mobile through his jeans.  
  
“I'll give you a call when I get there,” he says, trying to make his voice return to normal. “It's about, erm, about an hour and a half, the ride. Should be fun.”  
  
Mrs. Styles laughs and wipes her own eyes with her sleeve. “Yeah, should be.”  
  
Harry nods and picks up the black coat hanging on his closet door, folding it around his arms as he takes one deep breath. “I guess, I'll, er, I'll be going now. Don't want to miss the bus.”  
  
“Have fun, sweetheart.”  
  
Harry smiles and picks up his guitar case sitting against the wall near his desk. He hangs the strap around his shoulders and he likes the way it pushes perfectly against his skin. He gives his mother one last kiss on the cheek as he makes his way out of his room, and as he walks down the stairs, he looks at the pictures hanging on the wall—there are pictures of his parents with him in the middle, and the majority are of him through different stages in his life. He laughs when he sees the picture of him of the time he shaved his head when he was fifteen and he remembers locking himself in his room the entire day crying because he couldn't believe what he just did and how he looked utterly ridiculous.  
  
He jumps the last step and he says a quiet goodbye to the living room. He slips inside his shoes sitting next to the door and he takes the smallest umbrella from the hook. He grips the doorknob and he turns back to look at the place one more time. He wonders how different everything's going to be the moment he leaves, and he tries to comfort himself by softly humming a tune. He smiles, opens the door, and meets the rising sun on his skin as he walks outside.


	2. One

Harry scratches his head as he looks at the building and double checks the address on the piece of paper he's nervously gripping in his hand for the fifth time.   
  
The bus ride to the area was a very uncomfortable and nerve-wracking ordeal that stretched on for over two hours of nail biting and nervous glances out the window riddled with etched graffiti to see if he was going in the right direction. Every stop seemed like his, and once or twice, he had got up from his seat, thanked the driver, poked his head out the doors, and scanned the place for a second before turning around, apologizing that it wasn't his stop yet, and going back to his seat. His embarrassment didn't stop there, however. When he was drinking from his water bottle, the bus had driven into a particularly nasty hole in the road, and the next moment, he looks down and groans when he sees his trousers soaked down to his underwear, and he had to pull out his jumper to cover up the mess. When it finally came to his stop a few minutes later, he had to hold his jumper a certain way as he awkwardly made his way to the front, and after getting off the bus as quickly as he could, he ran to the nearest gas station and used up all the paper towels trying to dry himself off.   
  
Matching the numbers and the street name for the hundredth time, he takes a deep breath and pushes through the doors.   
  
Inside the building is cool, and he can feel a draft coming from his left. He starts walking. His shoes make more noise than they need to and the echoes make the place all the more unfamiliar—eerie, even. He reckons he's watched too many horror movies for his own good, because now he's thinking about crazy tenants armed with baseball bats and the possible zombie infection that's probably working its way through his system already, or is that even how zombie infections worked? He stuffs the paper back in his pocket and grips the strap of his guitar case tightly, just in case someone—or some _thing_ —tries to get him from behind.   
  
On the elevator doors, a sign is haphazardly taped, and he reads the  _out of order_  in bright, red ink, and he sighs dejectedly before turning his head this way and that until he finds the door to the staircase. He tugs at his case because his arm's starting to fall sleep, but all it does is shoot needles under his skin and he takes a moment to wait for it to subside. He switches to the other hand and makes for the door, and he looks up with wide eyes at the coiling structure behind it, seemingly going all the way up to eternity. He sighs for the millionth time. Failing to recall the flat number, which isn't really a surprise at this point since he's forgotten nearly everything else and it's only eight in the morning, he digs the paper out and examines it for a second. Room 605. He grimaces and looks up one more time, green eyes following each step, each bar, each turn until his eyes roll at the back of his head and he's a bit dizzy. He can't even remember the last time he ran in his physical education class, and his knees are already protesting when he takes the first step. Nine thousand nine hundred and ninety nine steps to go.   
  
Six floors later, Harry's legs are ready to be buried, and it seems like his heart's about to give out at any moment. He studies the hall before him as he tries to catch his breath. The walls are painted a deep orange not unlike the color of carrots, and he rubs his eyes to make sure he's not hallucinating. He isn't, and the longer he stares at the absurd color, the more he feels his eyes shrinking back into their sockets, and he's about ready to file a complaint concerning basic human rights when his legs miraculously start working again. Doing his best to ignore the walls, he instead keeps his eyes at the doors, taking note of the numbers on faded silver plaques as he walks past them.   
  
He sets his suitcase against the wall next to the door marked 605 and exhales sharply.   
  
He reaches a hand to his guitar strap and grips it tight, and with a deep breath, he presses the buzzer on the wall next to the doorknob.   
  
_“Who is it?”_  someone calls out from the other side, not particularly unpleasant but somewhat distracted. Harry clears his throat.   
  
“It's—It's Harry,” Harry replies, his voice surprisingly mousy. He clears his throat once more and tries again. “Harry Styles. Your new flatmate?”   
  
_“Oh right! Come in, the door's open.”_   
  
Harry scrambles for his suitcase and composes himself, but he's still gripping the strap tighter than ever.   
  
Twisting the knob, he pulls hard and his eyes shoot open when he hears his shoulder crack. Confused, he tries again, gently this time, but the door doesn't budge.   
  
“I, er, I think something's wrong with the door,” Harry says, attempting for the third time.   
  
_“Shit, I forgot! Just jiggle the, erm, handle a bit to loosen—hang on.”_   
  
Harry hears movement from the other side of the door. He tries the suggestion and shakes the doorknob from side to side, and to his surprise, the door moves slightly, but it's still quite attached to the frame.   
  
_“Hang on, hang on, I'll do it.”_   
  
Harry retracts his hand and watches as the knob begins shaking violently, and he flinches when he hears the scraping of wood on wood. But it works and when the door flings open, he's standing in front of a young man with shiny brown hair swept to the side and slightly hollowed cheeks wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and one sock. Harry doesn't even wonder where the other sock's gone because he's still thinking about the door.   
  
“Well, come on,” Liam Payne said, tossing his head to the living room. Harry nods with a grin and slips inside.   
  
It's quite spacious, Harry concludes with eyes alight, with a modest kitchen and a generous amount of open spaces to move about. The living room floor is littered with games and books, and there's a big television screen on the back wall with the word  _PAUSED_  blinking in the center. Harry lowers his suitcase on the sofa and turns around just in time to see Liam closing the door, and the grating sound scratches his eardrums again.   
  
“Sorry 'bout that,” Liam apologizes, turning around and scratching his head. “They claimed to have already fixed it two days ago.”   
  
“With what, superglue?” Harry jokes. Liam smiles.   
  
“Anyway, welcome to my humble abode,” Liam says, presenting the place with outstretched arms. “Although it's not really an abode, and it's not very humble. But you're still welcome to it.”   
  
Harry grins and holds a hand out. “Harry Styles.”   
  
“Liam Payne,” Liam says, taking the hand with his own and shaking it. “It's very nice to finally meet you in person.”   
  
“You as well.” Harry drops his hand and moves it back to the strap. “I really appreciate you getting back to me so quickly. I was beginning to think I'd never find someone to room with.”   
  
“Don't mention it,” Liam says with a wave of his hand. “You were in luck, actually. My dickhead flatmate walked out on me literally two days before you sent me the email. Still pretty miffed about it, to be honest.”   
  
“I'd bet,” Harry replies and looks around. “So when can I get, erm, settled in?”   
  
“Oh, right!” Liam points to the hallway beside the television set and Harry's eyes follow. “Your room's just down there on the left. I'm right across and the bathroom's in the back wall. If you need anything, just let me know, yeah?” Harry nods and picks up his suitcase, and when he makes his way to the bedroom, he feels his grip on the strap finally relaxing.   
  
::   
  
Louis shuts his moped off and pulls off his helmet.   
  
It feels like he's been driving forever since he's left Zayn's place, but he's glad he can finally feel solid ground under his feet. One more second in the road and he might have gone off course. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to drive with a million things going on in his head and his heart threatening to burst out of his chest, but he couldn't wait for Niall to get him, especially considering how far he lives.   
  
He kicks the support out with his foot and places the helmet on the leather seat. He digs out the mobile Zayn got him for his birthday and dials Niall's number.   
  
_“Lou?”_   
  
“I'm right outside.”   
  
_“Give me a second, yeah?”_   
  
“Sure.”   
  
Louis ends the call and throws the phone on the ground, stomping on it until his foot hurts. When he lifts his head, he sees Niall standing under the doorway still in his pajamas, blond hair messy and sticking every which way, and both lock eyes for a moment before Niall runs to him and holds him tight.   
  
“You're safe now, Lou,” Niall whispers, and Louis lets out a shaky breath. “You're safe with me.”   
  
Louis doesn't know if it's Niall's voice or how he's being held or how warm he feels under his clothes, but when he buries his face in Niall's chest and cries, his bruise doesn't hurt. He wraps his arms around Niall's back and pulls him closer. He doesn't want it to hurt anymore. He's soaking Niall's shirt but he can breathe again. He's not shaking and Niall keeps him close.   
  
“Come on, let's get you inside.”   
  
On the sofa, Niall's pressing a bag of ice against Louis's skin, and Louis just looks down and fidgets with his fingernails because he doesn't know what to say.  _Thank you_  isn't enough for everything Niall's done for him, and he's not sure if he can ever pay him back. He's sure that Niall wouldn't want him to, being how he is—give and give and smile and give—and he wonders what goes on in his head, why he never seems to get upset over anything, why he always _laughs_ .   
  
Niall's the first one to break the silence.   
  
“So what finally made you leave?”   
  
Louis lifts his head and meets Niall's eyes, bright blue and glistening. He doesn't know where to begin.   
  
“It wasn't even a big deal, really, what happened last night,” Louis finally says, and Niall pulls back the ice bag and listens with furrowed brows. Louis shifts in his seat. “He got home drunk. Big surprise. He's been coming home drunk for a while now but I—I don't know why I never said anything.  _Did_  anything. I don't know. Do you think if I'd asked him to stop, he'd have listened?”   
  
Niall shakes his head but doesn't say anything.   
  
“Yeah, I didn't think so, either. Anyway.” Louis stops and thinks, dropping his eyes back to his hands, still picking at his nails. “I don't even recall what it was I said. Or did. I guess it's not very important. But his  _reaction_ , Niall. You'd have thought I killed his entire family. And while he was beating me, I remember thinking  _'I don't deserve this. I don't deserve this.'_ .” Louis turns back to Niall. “When I saw this bruise, this big,  _ugly_  bruise, I just—I couldn't stay there. Not for another minute.”   
  
Niall nods and brings the bag to his bruise again, and Louis winces slightly at the touch. It doesn't hurt anymore, not really, but he can still feel Zayn's hand and it brings everything back, and he shuts his eyes and pulls on Niall's wrist to push the bag closer. Niall's surprised but he doesn't resist.   
  
“I know, Lou, I know” Niall says, and when Louis opens his eyes, he sees the other boy smiling. “I won't ever let him touch you again.”   
  
For the first time in what seems like forever, Louis can feel himself smiling.   
  
After rejecting Niall's offers to carry his suitcase for him, Louis grips the handle tight as he follows his friend up the stairs, his free hand skating the smooth, wooden banister as they ascend. Niall's house is big—bigger than what his family needs, really. How much space could two parents, a son, and a cat need anyway? But when your father's a big-time producer for a record company, Louis reckons it can't hurt to be lavish.   
  
When they reach the landing, Niall steers him down a hall and pushes through the door at the far end. Louis walks in after him and he notices the familiar smell wafting through the room. He remembers sleepovers, failed study groups, crazy game nights, countless movie dates and he smiles. Niall's room.   
  
“It's been a while, hasn't it?” Niall asks. Louis nods. It's been two years since he's last been there but he still remembers it like the back of his hand. There's a small space in the closet where they used to hide and eat chocolate bars when Niall's mother insisted they eat healthier for two months, and Louis had to get cavities taken out not too long after. The floor right in front of the bed is Jess's, Niall's cat, favorite sleeping area, and when it got too cold, she used to jump onto the bed and squeeze herself between the two boys for an hour or two before slinking back down and curling back to her spot.   
  
He can't remember why he stopped coming.   
  
“Too long, honestly,” Louis says, and when he sees the inflatable bed next to Niall's bed, he gently places his suitcase on it. But when he's about to take a seat, Niall yanks him away and throws the case on his bed. Louis is confused.   
  
“No, you're sleeping here until I can get another bed in,” Niall says, patting the bedspread. “Can't have you sleeping on that mangy old thing your first night here in  _ages_ .”   
  
“Really, Niall, it's fine,” Louis says, but he might as well have been talking to the bed itself because Niall's shaking his head adamantly.   
  
“Don't argue, Tomlinson, you know better,” Niall says and Louis grins. “Now, you go unpack and breakfast'll probably be ready by then.”   
  
“No, no, no, you've already done enough for me today, Ni,” Louis protests. “The least I can do it cook you breakfast. How about it?” But before Niall can come to a decision, Louis decides to run for the door, and when Niall tries to call him back and refuse, he's already halfway down the hall, and he stops just long enough to say, “No sense in arguing, Horan, it's not going to get you anywhere!”   
  
::   
  
After thirty long minutes of turning the flat upside down, Harry finally finds Liam's missing sock, and Liam happily takes it out of his hand and slips it on in one quick motion. Harry doesn't know why he hasn't done his laundry when he's down to his last pair of socks, but Liam's already running late and he doesn't really want to get in the way. Instead, he watches Liam zoom around the place, putting on last minute touches and taking at least five minutes to make sure his hair's not sticking out everywhere, and he waves goodbye to Harry before slamming the door on the hinge, and Harry runs up and helps him close it completely with one big push. He makes a mental note to remind Liam to get that damn thing fixed soon.   
  
Harry turns around and looks at the mess. Cleaning up certainly wasn't part of the agreement, and he can always just ignore them and lock himself in his room playing around with his guitar. He doesn't even remember the last time he cleaned his room back home. But for some reason, he can't seem to avert his eyes, and his hands are telling him to do it, just do it and get it over with.   
  
Sighing, he drags his feet along the floor and begins to pick up the games randomly strewn around, stacking them neatly right under the television. Harry looks over his shoulder and he's surprised that he can actually see the floor now. He takes care of a few bits of clothing hiding under the sofa, a few half-finished bottles of soda pushed right to the wall in a small cluster. Liam probably meant to throw them out but completely forgot, but Harry doesn't mind helping. What else can he do with his free time?   
  
It's starting to get hot and he takes his shirt off, wiping the sweat clinging to his forehead, and he continues to pick wrappers and pieces of paper in the spaces between the cushions. He even finds a few coins, putting them in a bowl set on the kitchen table, and when he drops the last coin he can find, he shakes them and reckons there's enough for at least one burger. Harry pockets them because he's worked hard enough for the past half hour and he deserves a treat.   
  
Putting his shirt back on, he retires to his room and looks at the open suitcase sitting on his bed. He was in the middle of unpacking when Liam had asked for his help, and he picks up where he left off. He folds his shirts and hangs his jumpers, and it isn't until he reaches the bottom of the case that he realizes he's only packed two pairs of jeans. He sighs and puts them away, and he rips a piece of paper out of his notepad and quickly writes  _get more jeans_ . He leaves it on his bedside table, placing the alarm clock on it to keep it in place. He slides the empty case in the space under his bed and he sits on the mattress, eyes on the closet.   
  
It's barely filled halfway, with big gaps in between the clothes and big, empty space underneath that's meant for his guitar. Looking at the emptiness now, however, he feels lost. What should he do now? Where does he start? He can't just walk down the street and expect to bump into a record agent and have his entire life changed with a few strokes of his pen right there. No, it doesn't happen like that. But it's not like he didn't think everything through. He had a plan—go to a new city, play at any venue he can find while working to pay for his half of the rent, and hopefully, he can at least get his foot in the door to start. Sure, it's not the best plan in the world, and yeah, sometimes, he  _did_  think the whole idea was quite stupid and he should just focus on finishing his schoolwork because it's never going to happen in a million, billion years, but he wouldn't know unless he tried.   
  
And now, he has the opportunity to make it all happen. All he needs is that one spark to set him off.   
  
He picks up his guitar on the floor and moves until his back is touching the wall, and he stretches his legs down the length of the bed. He strums it a few times, trying to get a steady flow, and he begins to hum. His fingers follow each note and in his mind, he can see words coming to life. But he can't seem to put them together, and he stops and they disappear. He shakes his head. He's thinking too much and his brain can't process two things at once. He sighs, scratches his head, and places the guitar back on the floor. Maybe if he clears out his head, he'll be able to get back into it without problem.   
  
The problem at the moment, though, is finding  _something_  to do to get his mind off things.   
  
He's all packed up and the place is clean—well, cleaner than it was before he got there—and, really, other than eat or play on Liam's game console, neither of which he feels like doing, the flat can't offer anything remotely exciting   
  
A thought pops in his head and in the next second, he's getting to his feet and he snatches the key to flat sitting on the table next to the note along with his wallet. Seeing as he's going to live there for a while, what better time to get himself familiarized with the area, and who knows, he might even find some cool new places he can blow his money on, which, with all things considered, doesn't amount to much because he needs to save a huge chunk of it for the rent. He can still afford to buy some luxuries, but without a job, his options are limited, and he figures he might as well start looking for a job while he's at it.   
  
Shoving the key and his wallet in his pockets, he makes his way out the door and gives it a quick, strong tug. When he retrieves the key to lock it, his fingers tap the coins he salvaged, and he smiles. Maybe he  _will_  get that burger after all.   
  
::   
  
Niall has always been obsessed with shoes.   
  
Louis had been there the moment he bought his first pair of shoes with the money he made from working, and the twinkle in his eyes and the large grin on his face made it seem like he was holding his newborn daughter. He might as well have, Louis thought, because Niall treats his shoes better than he treats his cat—not that he mistreats Jess, but if he were given a choice between her and his favorite pair of shoes, he'd most likely go for the shoes.   
  
Maybe that's why Jess is squeezed inside Niall's shoe compartment, a fairly large alcove in his, let's face it,  _palace_  of a closet, scratching at one of the shoes until Louis can see a large, nasty hole in the fabric.   
  
“Come on, Jess, Niall's going to be  _furious_ ,” Louis says, coaxing the feline into his arms for the fifth time. Jess just ignores him and moves onto the shoe right beside it. Louis gives up playing nice and, in one swift motion, grabs the cat by the back of her neck and drops her back on the floor outside. She's caught by such surprise that she'd forgotten to hiss until she's on the carpet, and Louis crawls backward on all fours and slams the door shut.   
  
When he stands up and turns around, Jess is gone again, and he heaves a big sigh. For the past half hour, he's been playing hide and seek with her, and he's beginning to think that she's doing the best she can to get him in trouble.  _What an evil little minx_ , he says to himself, and he opts out of the game and jumps back on the bed because even though he has nothing to do, anything's better than chasing her around the house. Now he understands why Niall likes his shoes better.   
  
Niall walks in the room with a rather large piece of bacon clamped in his teeth, and Louis laughs as he watches him take quick bites until his cheeks are full and puffing out.   
  
“You sure you don't want to go to the café today?” Niall asks as he chews. Louis nods. After everything, he doesn't know how focused he'll be, and he'd rather sit one day out than mess up because he's distracted and have to deal with Mike and one of his speeches. He loves Mike for letting him stay at the café for as long as he has but sometimes, he can only listen for so long before his head leaves his body and he's flying through the air, eating clouds and catching birds with a fishing pole.   
  
“Alright,” Niall says after swallowing. “I'll be off in a second. Just have to get ready. You can do anything you want around the house in the meantime, really. Mum already knows you're staying so you don't have to explain anything. Erm, and I have some sunglasses in the closet if you want to try some on. Most of 'em are new. Got 'em last week on sale.”   
  
“Thanks, Ni,” Louis replies, and Niall smiles and gets a coat from the closet. Louis sits up and holds his breath when Niall begins to shuffle through his shoes in the compartment, and the next second, Niall gives a loud gasp, raising the shoe Jess had made a scratch post and sliding a finger through the hole.   
  
“ _Fuck!_ ” Niall exclaims, and Louis sinks in his seat, trying to push himself through the bed and hide in the shadows forever. “Cost me a  _fortune_ , this!”   
  
“I tried to stop her, Ni, but I couldn't find her!” Louis defends because he doesn't like it when Niall's upset, and Niall exhales and puts it back where it had been. Louis wishes Jess had scratched him instead.   
  
“Don't worry, I needed new shoes anyway,” Niall says dejectedly, his face taking the expression of a kicked puppy. Louis frowns. He doesn't really know just how much Niall loves his shoes, but he  _does_  know that he hates seeing his face when something bad happens to them. Louis always liked to see Niall smile.   
  
“How about  _I'll_  get you a new pair and I'll nip over and get you some pizza while I'm at it,” Louis offers, and in a second, Niall's face lights up and he's beaming. Louis grins. Niall loves pizza, too. “I'll just stop by when I get them and get a drink or something, yeah?”   
  
Niall nods and grins. “You're the best, you are.”   
  
Louis knows that he can't ever completely pay Niall back for everything he's done, but with little things like these that make him smile, he'll take them as a start.   
  
After Niall finishes getting ready, Louis watches him as he picks up Jess, who has mysteriously ended up curling around his leg without him noticing, and tells her that he'll take her to the animal center and put her up for adoption if she ever claws through any of his shoes again, and he gives her a kiss on the forehead before waving goodbye to Louis and slipping out the door.   
  
Louis eyes Jess carefully as she slinks back and forth in front of the closet, both locking eyes for a moment before the feline breaks it and continues her march. Louis jumps from the bed and picks her up, turning her to face him directly.   
  
“Now, you heard what he said so don't try anything funny,” Louis warns, but Jess just looks at him with her beady amber eyes and opens her mouth to yawn. Louis keeps his eyes at her. “So you want to go in the closet  _that_  badly, is that right? Okay, tell you what.”   
  
Louis walks across the room and places Jess on the bed.   
  
“Niall took theater a few years ago and he still has all of his costumes. If you behave, I'll give you a private fashion show. Got it?”   
  
Jess looks at him disinterestedly and yawns again.   
  
“Fine,” Louis says sharply, and he turns on his heels and opens the closet door. Before he walks inside, he looks over his shoulder and locks eyes with her one last time. “Let's see if you're still yawning after the show, and don't you dare peek or I'll take you to the animal shelter myself.”


	3. Two

Harry is lost.   
  
He's never claimed to be the best when it comes to directions—although he did manage to get himself and a friend home from a house party a few cities away and did it all with what he call's “nature's navigation system,” meaning his extraordinary ability to read signs—but really, how on earth can he lose track of all the street names he's passed in the last half hour?   
  
He scratches his head and stops in front of a bench advertising a real estate company to gather his thoughts, which, at the moment, seem to be hell-bent on splitting his head in half. His initial goal of taking the walk to clear his mind is pushed out of the way and he's now wrestling with his lack of job and more second-guessing if this is  _really_  what he wants. He sighs and sits down.   
  
What was he doing? He never expected everything to fall into place the moment he steps into the city but he can't help but feel like he's blindly grasping at straws hoping he'll at least be able to touch one. As he watches people pass by, he feels naked, vulnerable, like a little kid waiting for his mother to come back and take him home because the big world scares him, and it makes everything all the more harder to take in.   
  
He exhales and rubs his hands together, trying to calm the blood rushing to his head. It doesn't really work, but doing something makes the thoughts slow down, and he gets up and sticks his hand in his pocket, ready to fish out his mobile.   
  
When he brings it out, he considers calling Liam so he doesn't have to spend the rest of the day trying to figure out his way back, but as he looks at the numbers on the screen, he decides against it, and he turns it off and stashes it back in his pocket. Liam's probably doing something important at work, and Harry's always had an innate ability to call at the worst possible times, like when he called his father during an important business meeting asking him if he could bring home poster paper and some colored markers for a presentation. Harry doesn't think he's ever completely forgiven him for that.   
  
Adding to the storm raging in his brain, he can hear his father saying,  _“You're not ready for this—for independence; all you need to do is keep your head in those books and stop chasing this nonsense,”_  back when he first pitched him the idea, and for a second, he  _did_  believe him, but now that he's come this far, he's determined to tell him he's wrong, to come back home with something to show for it.   
  
Lifting his head up, he searches for the nearest street sign and makes a note, and he resolutely makes his way down the sidewalk feeling better than he did now that he has something to prove.   
  
A few blocks in, he starts to feel confident, and he's already remembering places he can use as landmarks: a gas station, a fast-food restaurant with a large burger hovering just above the name in fluorescent letters,  _Goldberger's_ , and a pet shop. He steps into the pet shop for a second and looks at the animals through the bars, and he suddenly gets the urge to purchase a thin, young terrier bounding up and down his cage and watching him, eyes burning with excitement, because he can't bear to see him stuck in such a small space. He decides not to, however, after considering what Liam would think had he brought a puppy his first day in the flat and, really, how much a mess he would cause. He pulls out his mobile instead and takes a picture, silently promising to buy him if he'd still be there when he comes back.   
  
He continues down the sidewalk and he hears his stomach rumbling. Fast-food for breakfast never did settle in well with him, especially because he always overestimates the hunger and buys more than his stomach can handle. He opts to go further, eyes peeled, looking every which way for a sandwich place or deli, something small but filling, when he comes across a modest café on the other side of the road,  _One Way_ , sitting between a flat complex and an art store, quite busy this early in the morning with people filing in and out the doors with oversized sketchbooks and canvases, dropping paintbrushes and pencils everywhere. There must be an art school nearby, and Harry punches in the name and address of the store in his mobile so he can buy more music sheets.   
  
Looking both ways and ignoring the rumbling, he runs across the road and pushes through the doors to One Way, and he hears the distant tinkling of the bell as he steps into the cool air inside.   
  
::   
  
There really should have been a mirror in the closet so Louis can see just how ridiculous he looks.   
  
Taking a deep breath, he makes his grand entrance and flings the door open. He glides out into the room, arms outstretched like a bird and legs spread apart as far as his trousers can let him, decked in a green sequined suit, sparkling, red pants that end just above his ankles, blue-striped knee-high socks, particularly noisy tap shoes that sound like they emit gunshots with each step, and a pink fedora hat tipped with a flimsy, white feather broken off at the top.   
  
When his eyes land on Jess, who has a leg up in the air, cleaning herself, he tips his hat to her and does five quick steps before jumping onto one knee and throwing his hands in the air. The little show goes unnoticed because Jess has decided that clawing a pillow is far more interesting than the odd one-man show, and Louis resigns and sits on the floor with a sigh.   
  
“Come on you stupid cat, it took me at least half an hour to put this together and you can't even look me in the face,” Louis says, grabbing a sock nearby and throwing it at Jess, who turns around, hisses sharply, and resumes clawing the fabric until he can hear it tearing. He stands up, grabs her by the skin on her neck, and pulls her off the bed and onto the floor. “Okay, I don't know what's with you and destroying everything that belongs to Niall but you have got to stop. I don't even know why he keeps you, seriously.”   
  
Jess gives a loud mewl and slinks under the bed, and Louis scratches his arm and turns to go back into the closet to change, but not before seeing someone standing in the doorway, and he nearly jumps out of his skin and he takes a step back with a sharp breath. A good, long look revealed the person to be Mrs. Horan, her hair up in pink rollers, sporting a bright, red lipstick, and Louis sighs in relief.   
  
“I didn't see you there, Mrs. Horan,” Louis says, straightening out his suit before realizing what he's wearing, and he quickly snatches the fedora hat from his head and hides it behind him. “How are you?”   
  
“Just fine, thank you, Louis,” Mrs. Horan replies with a smile, although her eyes clearly show her confusion, and Louis grins back before saying, “Thank you so much for letting me stay here with Niall. It means a lot, really.”   
  
Mrs. Horan shakes her head and waves a hand. “Oh, you're  _always_  welcome here, you should know that by now. Why, I still remember when I tried to teach you how to bake apple pie and we burned it to a crisp.”   
  
Louis remembers too, back when he was thirteen and his Home Economics class had got him interested in cooking for a while. When he opened the oven door, black smoke billowed out and nearly suffocated him, and the pie was an almost unrecognizable black heap in the center of the grate.   
  
“I've had better results since then,” he assures with a laugh. “I can make you one tonight, if you'd like. I'll even add vanilla ice cream. I know how much you love vanilla.”   
  
“Oh, that would be  _delightful_ , Louis, thank you,” she says with a smile, and Louis grins back for the final time before she excuses herself with a soft goodbye. Louis scratches his head with a yawn and makes his way back to the closet.   
  
“By the way,” he hears Mrs. Horan say just as he takes a step inside, and he wheels back around and turns back to the doorway. “Has Niall left already?”   
  
“About an hour ago,” Liam answers with a nod.   
  
“Alright, then. Just tell him I'll be out until much later tonight and that his father won't be back until tomorrow from the business meeting.”   
  
Louis nods again and waves goodbye as she disappears into the hallway. This time, he runs into the closet and closes the door behind him before she comes back, feeling more and more uncomfortable with each second he's inside the suit, and he rips it off along with the pants and hangs them back into place. He kicks the shoes back in Niall's shoe compartment and hangs the hat on the shelf next to his sport caps. He keeps the socks, however, and he slides back out into the room where Jess has reclaimed her position on the bed, focused on finishing what she started. He shakes his head, walks back into the closet, and goes through Niall's collection of suglasses in the far corner where the theater clothes are.   
  
They're all mounted on a rotating cylinder, and Louis can see that they're organized by size, going from the smallest lens to the largest. There are red ones, blues, even deep greens, but one pair catch his eyes: pure black with one of the biggest lenses. While they can't completely cover the bruise, they can easily shadow over it so it won't be as noticeable. They're perfect.   
  
He closes the door behind him and puts them on. He strides over to Jess, whose claws seem to have glued themselves to the pillow, and attempts to pry her off. Failing that, which isn't really a surprise at this point, he grabs the pillow instead and wraps his arms around it until Jess is firmly pressed against his chest, and he carries her out into the hallway.   
  
“You can rip this pillow for all I care but you're not coming back inside until you behave, you hear?” Louis scolds, tapping a finger to Jess's nose. Jess doesn't make a move to turn away and Louis smiles. “Alright, then, now that we've come to an agreement, I'm just going to visit Niall and buy some things, and if you behave, I'll get you some shoes to scratch. Sound good?”   
  
Louis doesn't wait for a response and the next second, he's back inside the room grabbing the keys on the bedside table. He stops in front of the mirror next to the door and checks himself before going out: a white shirt with red and blue stripes, a pair of khaki shorts, and Niall's blue-striped socks. He ruffles his hair and repositions the sunglasses and he's out the door, locking it behind him and giving Jess a kiss on the top of her head as she buries herself in the fluff inside the pillow.   
  
He goes over the list in his head of things he's going to buy as he sprints down the stairs: shoes and pizza for Niall, cheap shoes for Jess, and a new pillow.   
  
And maybe a new haircut, just to change things up a bit.   
  
::   
  
Harry sticks his hands in his pockets and ambles past the chairs in front of the bar, looking at the framed photos of flowers and sepia-toned buildings showing what he assumes as the evolution of One Way over the years. The walls are a light red, almost pinkish hue, and the entire floor is covered with round tables for twos and fours, except for the back wall, where a small wooden stage is set up with a microphone stand in the center. He stops and stares. Stands can only mean one of two things: stand up comedy or musical performances. His heart begins to speed up. He hopes it's the latter.   
  
Turning around, he makes his way to one of the chairs on the bar and sits down, hands folded on the smooth wooden surface, and waits for the blond employee whose back is turned to him, operating the coffee machine with a hand on his hip and a foot tapping with the soft music playing in the background. When he turns around with a mug of coffee, he jumps a bit when he sees Harry, and Harry smiles and looks at his name tag: NIALL.   
  
“Hello,” Niall says with a smile, putting the mug on the table behind him, pushing it further out of Harry's line of vison. “Welcome to One Way. What would you like today?”   
  
“Hi, erm,” Harry starts, and he looks at the menu board behind Niall, the items scrawled in pink and blue chalk. “I'd like a ham and cheese sandwich and a hot chocolate, please.”   
  
“Coming right up.” Niall rings up his order in the cash register and after Harry pays, his eyes are back on the stage. The red curtains at the top are drawn up with gold ropes, and even from the distance, he can see chair marks on the wood, right behind the stand.   
  
“Pretty cool, innit?” Niall's voice brings him back to the bar and Niall's back is turned to him again, and when Harry looks down at the counter, there's a sandwich on a napkin, warm and invigorating. Harry looks back at Niall and laughs.   
  
“Very cool,” he agrees and Niall places the hot chocolate next to the sandwich. Harry takes a sip and wraps his fingers around the warm cup, feeling the steam rising up under his chin. “Do you do musical performances here?”   
  
Niall nods as he wipes the space next to Harry with a damp towel. “Almost on a weekly basis, actually. Anyone's free to sign up, and we take as much as ten people per night. Most we did was twenty. You don't see many cafés having stages anymore. A shame, really, the performances are always fun to watch. You new here?”   
  
“Yeah, just moved into my flat this morning,” Harry says with a grin, taking a bite of the sandwich and washing it down with the chocolate. Niall folds the towel and stuffs it under the counter.   
  
“Oh yeah? Where at?”   
  
“Down at Cheshire Street. It's really nice.”   
  
“Oh, I know where that is. My friend lived there once, used to visit him all the time 'fore he left for uni.”   
  
Harry smiles and shifts in his seat, hands coming back to the cup. “It's a pretty far walk, to be honest, and quite confusing. I just happened to pass through here after getting lost for half an hour. I had no idea where I was going”   
  
“Ah, you took the long way, didn't you? Yeah, there's a shortcut right next to the bus stop, in the alley behind the shoe shop, you can't miss it.”   
  
“Thanks, I'll be sure to keep that in mind,” Harry says, grinning. Niall smiles back.   
  
“At least you got to see the area, yeah?” Niall turns to the back table and dips his head to take a sip of the coffee.   
  
“Yeah, definitely. I'm glad I came across this place, I didn't think I'd ever find somewhere to play.”   
  
Niall's ears perk up and he turns around. “You play? An instrument?”   
  
Harry nods with a smile. “The guitar. And I sing a little.”   
  
Niall's smile is getting wider and the next second, he's digging under the counter and Harry's looking at him with eyebrows drawn together. Niall resurfaces with a clipboard, which he promptly slams down on the counter, and he follows up by offering Harry a pen, eyes flashing with excitement. Harry backs up a bit in surprise.   
  
“That's wonderful! Would you like to sign up for the lineup, then? I've only got about three people on this list and I've been trying to get more people to play this whole week!”   
  
Harry laughs and happily slides the pen from Niall's fingers. “Sure, no problem. I'd love to.”   
  
“Thank you so much!” Niall exclaims as Harry scribbles his name in the line, and when Harry hands him back the clipboard, Niall's beaming. “To tell you the truth, we haven't been getting much names this past month. Last week, we only had two people sign up.  _Two people!_  Can you believe that? So thank you! I know, I'll get you another sandwich on the house, what do you say?”   
  
Harry shakes his head and waves his hands. “No, you don't have to, really. I'm trying to get into the business myself and this is going to be a wonderful opportunity to start from, so if anything I should be thanking  _you_ .”   
  
“I'll get you the sandwich anyway, you can just eat it later if you want,” Niall says with a laugh, and when he turns back to the table, he downs the entire mug and goes on to fix Harry another sandwich before Harry can utter another protest.   
  
Harry sits back down and swirls the chocolate, and it's then that he hears the bell ring. He turns his head just in time to see a young man with large sunglasses walking in, lugging plastic bags of different sizes and a red helmet on his head.   
  
::   
  
Louis sighs and hoists up the bags when he takes the first few steps in the café.   
  
Who knew a pillow, two pairs of shoes, and two boxes of pizza could be so heavy? Or maybe, he thinks as he makes his way across the tiled floor, he's really just out of shape and he should consider the gym membership Niall's been offering him for a while.   
  
Passing the bar, he sees a young man sitting and swirling the contents of his cup. He had a big mess of brown hair, and Louis wonders to himself how he ever got his head through the door.   
  
“Ni, can you help me before Mike sees this?” Louis calls out to Niall, who's just placed a sandwich in front of the customer, and Niall looks up and grins when his eyes fall on the pizza boxes. Of course, they're what he goes for first, and Louis shuffles behind the counter and pushes the rest of the boxes and his helmet into the corner. When he comes back up, he sees Niall hiding the boxes in a drawer behind them, and he laughs when Niall rips a piece off and quickly pops it in his mouth.   
  
Louis's eyes fall back on the customer, who's stopped playing with his cup and is now looking at them with a smile, and Louis can see dimples poking themselves in his cheeks. For a second, their eyes meet, and Louis swears he had the greenest eyes he's ever seen. In a flash, they're gone and back to the cup, nearly emptied, and Louis feels his stomach drop and his heart race. He bites the inside of his cheek and goes back to Niall, who has just taken another piece and is now wiping his lips with a napkin.   
  
“Oh, you had your hair cut, too,” Niall says, balling up the napkin and reaching a hand to touch Louis's hair. It isn't terribly short, but his head feels lighter and his fringe isn't poking at his eyes anymore when it decided to fall over his face. “It's nice.”   
  
“Thanks,” Louis grins, and he gets up from behind the counter and sits himself down next to the young man, who downs the entire cup and takes a large bite of his sandwich. “Ni, you'd never believe what just happened.”   
  
“What happened?” Niall asks, closing the pizza drawer for the third time and Louis leans his elbows on the counter.   
  
“I was being stupid with your theater clothes, right? Well, you know that one green suit with the sequins? I was putting on a show for Jess and I paired it up with those red glitter pants you had and your mum, out of nowhere, appears in the doorway. You should have seen the look on her  _face_ , Ni! She probably thought I looked like a watermelon, I was so embarrassed!  _A watermelon!_ ”   
  
Niall laughs and from beside him, Louis hears the man utter a small giggle. He looks up and gives Louis an apologetic smile after seeing Louis staring back.   
  
“Oh, I'm sorry. I was just imagining you dressed as a watermelon. Don't—don't mind me.”   
  
Louis shoots him a grin and the man smiles back, and that feeling at the pit of his stomach is back again. The biggest hair, the greenest eyes, the widest smile—who  _is_  he?   
  
“By the way, Lou, this guy here signed up for Friday,” Niall says, snapping Louis's attention back to him, and Louis draws his brows together and blinks, waiting for Niall to elaborate.   
  
“Signed up for what?”   
  
“For the lineup, stupid. Have you forgotten?”   
  
It comes rushing back to Louis in a second and he's scratching his head. “Oh, God, I'm sorry. I completely forgot. Mike hasn't given me that job since last month.”   
  
Niall nods. “Obviously, because I've been killing myself over getting more names in.” He leans in and Louis all but gets up from his chair to hear Niall whisper, “And I heard Mike talking to someone about considering to close down the performances for good because we haven't been getting much volunteers.”   
  
“How come you didn't tell me? I would've helped, you know that,” Louis whispers back, and Niall shakes his head.   
  
“You had your own problems and I didn't want to bother you with any more, really. But I'm planning changing his mind so don't worry. I  _did_  get a name in today, didn't I? It's all going to get better from here, I know it.”   
  
Louis smiles and agrees. In more ways than one, that's for sure.   
  
He turns back to the man and extends his hand. “Hello, I'm Louis.”   
  
Green eyes drop to the hand and he takes it with his own. “Nice to meet you, Louis. I'm Harry.”   
  
Harry's hands are warm and Louis feels his skin tingling, and he lingers for a moment before sliding his hand out and saying, “So, you're a singer? Of course, you're a singer, what a stupid question to ask, or else you wouldn't have signed up. I, er, I don't really know where I'm going with this but...”   
  
Harry laughs. “Well,  _trying_  to be. I'm just trying to get my foot in the door and, you know, take all the opportunities I can get while I can. I really want to make it in the business.”   
  
Louis smiles and silently berates himself for tripping over his words like an idiot. “I'm sure you will. Café performances are really in right now, I think it's great that you're doing it.”   
  
“Thanks, I appreciate that,” Harry says, grabbing his neglected sandwich and taking another large bite. Louis nods and folds his hands over the counter.   
  
“Can you get me a hot chocolate, Ni?” Louis asks, and when he looks at Harry's cup from the corners of his eyes, he adds, “And some more for Harry, too.”   
  
::   
  
Harry puts the sandwich back on the napkin and drops his hands to his lap. He picks at his fingernails and watches Louis drumming his fingers on the counter from the corners of his eyes as he waits for his hot chocolate.   
  
Louis is an interesting guy, he thinks. Someone who smiles just as much as he does. But there's a sadness there, he can see it in his smile, and Harry doesn't have to wonder too long why that is because when he lifts his eyes to Louis's face, he can just see under the glasses the unmistakable purple hue of a fresh bruise.   
  
His stomach drops and he turns his attention back to his fingers.   
  
For a moment, he considers asking him about it because he's curious, really curious, but he thinks better of it and keeps quiet. Just what kind of person would he be to bring attention to something Louis is obviously trying to hide?   
  
“So, you work here?” Harry opts instead, lifting his head and looking at Louis a quarter of the way.   
  
Louis stops drumming and nods. “Yeah, I work with Niall here, but I've taken the day off and I wanted to keep him company.”   
  
Niall strides over to fill Harry's cup and, leaning in with a smile, tells Harry, “That's not true. He's only here for the free food.”   
  
Louis scoffs with a laugh and punches Niall on his arm. “Shut up and give me my chocolate, Horan.”   
  
“Sure, it's coming out of your pay anyway,” Niall responds, and Harry watches them with enthusiasm, thoroughly entertained. He's forgotten the last time he's joked with his friends like this, and as much as he's enjoying his time in the new city, he can't help but feel alone.   
  
“Anyway,” Louis says when Niall finally gives him his cup of chocolate after a few seconds of keeping it out of his reach. He turns back to Harry with a smile. “You look quite young to be pursuing a career in music. Was it always—”   
  
Harry feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up when he sees Louis's face twisting into terror, and before Harry could ask what's wrong, Louis is on his feet in a blur and he sprints and hides behind the counter.   
  
“He—hey! What's wrong?” Harry calls out, and he looks at Niall with questioning eyes, but Niall's face tells him he's just as confused about the whole thing as he is.   
  
::   
  
The only thing Louis is thankful for in that moment is that Zayn didn't turn his head and look through the mirror as he made his way down the street.   
  
His heart is pounding, about to tear his ribcage in two, and he pushes himself back as far into the corner of the counter as he can. He pushes the boxes to make room and he can see Niall backing up, gripping the back table and dropping his eyes to mouth,  _“What is it?”_   
  
“Zayn! Zayn!” Louis mouths back, pointing out the window, and he tenses up immediately when he hears the bell ring, and he shrinks further back into the corner, hugging his knees close to his body, when Zayn's voice rings through the café.   
  
_“Louis, where are you?”_


	4. Three

It takes Niall a split second to tear his eyes away from the owner of the voice and step casually over to the counter with a towel in hand, and he begins to wipe the surface as he dips his head as close as he can to Harry, who's still very much surprised and confused about what just happened with Louis.   
  
“Don't look back and pretend you're talking to me,” Niall whispers, the sense of urgency in his voice unsettling. The smiling, friendly face has broken into harsh features in such a small amount of time that Harry can feel his heart starting to race, and his palms are sweating. He doesn't quite know how to react, and for a fraction of a moment, he almost turns his head just to see what all the fuss was about, but the look on Niall's eyes, calm and soothing one minute and steel-cold the next, tells him it's better to listen instead.   
  
“So—so how often do you, erm, do you have performances?” Harry inquires, his voice noticeably shaky, and he clears his throat to try to get himself together. He’s not sure if he’s asked the question before, but right now, he’s grasping for anything to start a conversation. Niall flips the towel, folding it neatly and tucking it under the counter, and he turns back to Harry with a smile. There it is again, the swift change of expression that seems to come naturally to Niall, and Harry tries to mimic him, tries to shape his face into a smile, but it feels crooked and forced and he stops and takes a bite of his sandwich again.   
  
“Every week if we’re lucky,” Niall says, and he pulls at the hem of his shirt under his white work apron before opening his mouth to add, “Once we had to cancel because we didn’t have anybody signed up.”   
  
Harry nods and snakes his hand over to his cup, and it’s then that he sees a shadow fall over him, and he immediately searches for Niall’s eyes. He sees a trace of fear flash across them, and Harry tries to contain himself from turning around. Just who  _was_  this guy?   
  
_“Where is he?”_   
  
Harry hears the man right behind him and his skin prickles. The voice was quiet—demure, even, but Niall’s face makes it seem otherwise, as if the man had slammed his hands on the counter and started yelling.   
  
“What do you want?” Niall says, his voice sharp, eyes burning holes. The man repeats himself. Harry shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he grips his cup tight, and he chances a sideways glance at the man now standing beside him. He’s the same as Harry’s build, with dark skin and black hair, with features that can cleave diamonds in half. He’s bundled up in multiple layers of clothing, with at least two jackets and a scarf, and his hands are shoved in his pockets. There’s a name tag clipped on his jacket pocket, and Harry can make out ZAYN in bold red ink from the distance. He might have been crying not too long ago, Harry thinks, because he can see a ring of redness around his bloodshot eyes, and he looks away almost immediately, focusing his eyes on the blackboard menu.   
  
“I’m not looking for trouble, Niall, I just want to know where he is,” Zayn finally says after waiting for Niall to answer. “He left this morning, clothes packed, drawers open, and he hasn’t—he hasn’t answered any of my calls.”   
  
Harry’s confused. Zayn’s voice is harmless at best, but the way Niall’s standing—rigid with his fists balled up, ready to fight—tells him that there’s more to him underneath the layers of clothes and teary eyes.   
  
“He’s not here, he didn’t show up for work today,” Niall replies, turning around and grabbing an empty coffee pot, and he slides it under the coffee machine. He presses a button and keeps his back to them.   
  
“Just tell me where he is, then,” Zayn persists, his voice getting louder, and Harry can feel his desperation. Zayn pulls his hands from his pockets and places them firmly on the countertop. Niall gives a shrug and stays turned around.   
  
“I don’t know where he is,” Niall finally says, fingers tapping on the back table. “But if he left, he had a good reason to. Just leave him alone.”   
  
Harry doesn’t know what to do and he feels uncomfortable sitting there, listening to the exchange without the slightest idea of what’s happening. His eyes fall on the spot under the counter where Louis has disappeared, and he wonders how he’s feeling.   
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Zayn says sharply, and Harry’s unnerved at how quickly his tone has changed. “What did he tell you?” Niall turns back around and looks at Zayn intensely, hands gripping the edge of the table.   
  
“I’m not  _blind_ , Zayn,” Niall snaps, and Harry watches as he pulls his fingers off and walks forward, eyes focused on Zayn. “You’d have to be a complete  _idiot_  not to know what’s going on when Louis comes crying to me with fucking bruises on his face. And it’s not just  _once_ , Zayn, this happened  _hundreds_  of times! Why would you  _do_  that to him?”   
  
Before Harry can stop it, his head completely turns to Zayn, whose eyes are wide and mouth slightly open in surprise.   
  
“It’s none of your business what goes on between us, Horan—”   
  
“When he tells me he’s fucking scared of what you’ll do next, it  _is_  my fucking business!” Niall cuts in severely, jabbing a finger to Zayn’s chest, eyes blazing with fury. Harry notices the café has become quiet, and he doesn’t need to turn around to know that everyone’s looking at them. Niall retracts his hand adds in a softer tone, “And as I’ve told you before, I haven’t seen him.”   
  
It happens in one quick motion and Niall lets out a pained grunt as Zayn grabs him by the collar, pulling him close to his face. Harry’s stomach drops and without warning, he shoots up from his seat. He meets Niall’s eyes for a moment and he’s not sure what to do.   
  
“I don’t believe you,” Zayn says viciously, and the fear creeps back into Niall’s eyes.   
  
Harry’s had enough.   
  
“Come on, man, let up, he said he doesn’t know where he is,” Harry says, gripping Zayn’s wrist tightly and trying to pry him off Niall’s shirt. Zayn’s hand refuses to move and he snaps his head to Harry. Harry’s pulse is quickening and he can feel the adrenaline coursing its way through his body.   
  
“Who the fuck are  _you_ ?” Zayn spits out, letting go of Niall’s collar and jerking his hand away from Harry’s, easily breaking his grip. From the corner of Harry’s eyes, he can see Niall rubbing his neck, catching his breath. Zayn turns his body to Harry and steps forward, eyeing him like a shark. Despite the hammering in his chest, Harry stands his ground, and he stands to his full height, hoping it would give him some semblance of an edge.   
  
“Look, he’s clearly not here so why don’t you just leave him alone, okay? And sign yourself up for an anger management program while you’re at it.”   
  
It comes out of his mouth before he can stop it, and it takes him a second to work out exactly what he had said and where it came from. A look of incredulity splashes across Zayn’s face and Harry doesn’t have time to prepare himself as Zayn gives him a forceful shove on the chest. Harry staggers backward, knocking over a chair behind him, and he catches himself before he can crash on the table. He hears gasping around him as he regains his posture, but he can’t see anything but the look on Zayn’s face.   
  
“And who the  _fuck_  do you think you are?” Zayn hisses, and Harry’s heart is palpitating wildly, ready to burst through his chest, sending shocks through his entire body until he can feel himself shaking. He’s never been in a fight before and he’s getting drunk on adrenaline, and his mind blanks out when he lunges forward, pushing Zayn to the floor. There’s screaming and the tinkling of bells as Harry gives blow after blow to any part of Zayn’s body he can reach, and both men are writhing on the floor, every inch of skin burning with pain. Harry ignores the sharp sting on his abdomen when Zayn gives him a forceful kick and keeps on punching and elbowing, determined to cause as much pain as possible.   
  
_“Harry, stop—Zayn! Mike! Mike!”_  Harry hears Niall screaming, and he feels hands gripping his arms, tearing him away from Zayn, who’s still kicking and cursing. Zayn pushes himself up, grabs Harry’s shoulders, and throws him back on the ground along with Niall, who’s still screaming for Mike. Zayn shoulders Niall to the side and raises his fist, ready to land a blow on Harry’s face, and Harry shuts his eyes, bracing himself for the impact, but it never comes. He’s confused and he opens them back up, and he sees a man holding Zayn by the wrist, pulling him off and tugging him to his feet.   
  
Niall, who must have screamed his throat hoarse, helps Harry get to his feet and tells the man, who he assumes is Mike, to  _“get that fucker out of here.”_  His voice is cracked and breathy, but it doesn’t diminish the severity and Harry feels his skin crawl at how much Niall has changed in the past few minutes. But when he looks down on his hands, red and aching just like the time he punched a wall when he and his best friend got into an argument a few years back, he realizes that when one’s thrown into this kind of situation, it’s either fight or flight, and it surprises him just how much fight he had in him.   
  
Mike, a tall, burly man easily over six feet with hands that can cover Harry’s face completely, clamps his hands around Zayn’s arms from behind, and Zayn grunts and huffs and tries to shake him off, but it’s no competition. Mike spins him around and gives him a little push to get him walking, and halfway across the café, he turns his head and looks at Niall over his shoulder.   
  
“Tell—tell Louis I’m sorry!” he pleads, his tone back to how it was when he first came in, desperation clinging to every word. Harry feels Niall support him as he makes his way back to his seat, and it isn’t until then that Niall decides to turn his attention to Zayn, already a few steps from the door.   
  
“Just leave us alone, Zayn,” Niall says, his voice soft and resigned, no trace of anger anywhere. Disappointment, maybe, but not anger. “Look how much damage you’ve caused. I don’t want to see you anywhere near him  _or_  us again, or I  _will_  call the police.”   
  
Zayn’s face breaks at this more than all the punches Harry threw at him combined, and he doesn’t have a chance to say anything because Mike’s pushing him out the door and into the street, and when the door closes, Harry can hear Mike’s muffled screaming. Zayn’s looking down on the pavement and rubbing his jaw.   
  
“Fuck!” Harry hears Niall scream, tearing his gaze from the door to see him scrambling over the counter and reaching for something. At first, he doesn’t know what’s going on, just like everything else in the last half hour, but then he feels it running down his lips and dripping from his chin. He looks down and sees the front of his shirt stained with blood, and he quickly brings up a sleeve to attempt to block the flow.   
  
::   
  
When Louis sees Niall’s hand emerging from the counter, he pushes the boxes out of the way and crawls out of his hiding space in one swift motion.   
  
“Here get—get me a towel or something,” Niall says, his voice breathy and broken at parts. Louis nods and flings open a drawer, and he digs under the pizza box for a clean towel. He wets it slightly and hands it over to Niall, who snatches it from his hand and turns to Harry sitting back in his seat. Louis’s eyes follow Niall until they land on Harry, and it feels like as if a sledgehammer has struck him in the stomach at the sight of him.   
  
He can already see bruises forming on Harry’s face, little pockmarks of sickening purple, and it takes him back to the night before, looking at himself on the bathroom mirror. He closes his eyes and turns away.   
  
“Louis, get over here and help Harry, I want to talk to Mike,” Niall says urgently, and Louis jumps into action, and he runs around the counter and grabs the towel Niall’s offering. Niall turns around and makes his way to Mike outside, and when Louis looks up for a second, he can’t see Zayn. He sighs in relief when he realizes he’s left.   
  
He turns back to Harry and he sees his green eyes flash across his own for a moment, and he feels a jolt run down his spine. His pulse begins to quicken.   
  
“I’m sorry, I, er, I don’t really know what to say,” Louis tells him, his mind shutting off completely and he’s just sitting there next to Harry with a towel in his hand while Harry dabs at his nose with his sleeve. Noticing this, he slowly tugs at the bottom of Harry’s sleeve, and his stomach drops at how bloodied his face is, how broken, and at that moment, he wishes he had just stood up and talked to Zayn before all of this could happen.   
  
But he can’t see him again. It’s too soon.   
  
He brings the towel to Harry’s face and starts to wipe the blood off, and he sees Harry wincing in pain.   
  
“You don’t have to say anything,” Harry finally says, and Louis stops for a moment, startled. “It’s not your fault.” Louis can see a smile stretching from beneath the towel and he begins to feel nervous, the kind of nervousness that makes his knees weak and makes his breath come out ragged and shaky. His heart starts to rampage and he searches for Harry’s eyes.   
  
“I—I apologize on Zayn’s behalf,” Louis mutters before he can stop himself, and he sees Harry’s eyebrows knitting together. Louis looks away and resumes wiping. “I mean, look at you, your clothes are ruined and your nose is running like a broken faucet. I’m—I’m really sorry you had to be here when this happened. I’m so sorry.”   
  
Harry gives a laugh and shakes his head, and Louis snaps his attention back to him.   
  
“You don’t have to apologize for him,” he says, and Louis clings to his words with wide eyes. “You don’t owe him anything.”   
  
Louis shifts in his seat and raises a hand to touch the bruises along Harry’s cheek with the tips of his fingers. Harry grimaces at the touch but he doesn’t make a move to turn away, and Louis traces a circle over each mark until he touches the rough coating of dried blood and Harry’s growing stubble. He shivers at the feeling and he closes his eyes.   
  
“He did this to me, you know, and you’ve probably already seen it because, let’s be honest, these glasses don’t really hide much of anything,” Louis says, pulling his hand back and replacing it with the towel, and with is free hand, he slides off Niall’s sunglasses. He places it gently on the countertop and turns his head a quarter of the way, just enough so Harry can see the bruise completely.   
  
Harry’s eyes widen and Louis drops his head with a laugh.   
  
“This one’s from last night after he came home drunk. Again. I don’t even remember what we were arguing about, and I just remember thinking, ‘I don’t deserve this’. So I packed my things and left. I couldn’t stay there. Not for another day. I mean, if this happens because of something so insignificant, I’m afraid of what he’ll do if something big  _does_ happen.” Louis meets Harry’s eyes again and he can feel Harry’s hand moving over to cover his, and he grips the towel tight when he feels their skins touch.   
  
Out of instinct, Louis slides his hand off and lets Harry catch the towel, and he rests his hands on his lap, eyes tracing the pattern on the floor. What is he doing? He’s barely met Harry and now he’s touching his face, holding his hand. It doesn’t seem right. He looks back at Harry and all of a sudden, he feels guilty and embarrassed and confused. Guilty because he feels responsible for everything—the bruises, the cuts, the blood, embarrassed because the entire time he’s known Harry, all he’s done is make a fool of himself, and confused because he can’t stop thinking about Harry’s smile and  _why does he keep smiling and making me feel this way?_   
  
“It’s the best thing you could have done,” Harry says, picking up where Louis left off, and he flips the towel over and starts to wipe the blood from his neck.   
  
“Well, it’s over now, and I’m going to try my best to keep him out of my life from now on.”   
  
Harry smiles again and Louis can feel the edges of his lips stretching upwards, and soon enough, he’s smiling too.   
  
“You can always get a restraining order, you know,” Harry suggests with a grin, and Louis is surprised at the laugh that makes its way out of his throat.   
  
::   
  
Harry watches the blood mixing with the water pooling in the sink as it goes down the drain, and he sighs and turns his attention back to his nose.   
  
It’s stopped bleeding for a while but it’s still raw, still stings, and he scoops up a bit of water and rubs the underside gently, thinking of happy thoughts to distract from the pain. It doesn’t really work, but at least his face is clean—well, as clean as it can be despite all the cuts and bruises that have already started to appear. He inches closer to the mirror and looks at his reflection.   
  
Why did he do it? He knows it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, but really, he could have just as easily ignored it. He didn’t have to run headfirst into the situation like some dim-witted brute that solves his problems with his fists. He’s usually calm and collected and, all things considered, a pacifist. But for some reason, the moment Zayn took Niall by the collar, he couldn’t hold himself back. The odd thing about all this was how determined he was to help, considering he’s just met them a little over an hour ago.   
  
And then there’s Louis.   
  
He brings his fingers to the area where Louis touched his face, and he feels his heart, slowed down now that everything’s settled and orderly, speeding back up. His face starts to burn and he can feel something running down from his nose, and he groans when he sees lines of red trailing over and around his mouth.   
  
“Shit.”   
  
He sighs and brings more water to his face.   
  
Harry pulls off his shirt and inspects the stains at the front—there’s a big blotch right at the center surrounded by coin-sized marks, and he runs it under the tap and tries to rub it out with soap from the dispenser. It works for the most part, the angry, bright red mellowing out into a more pinkish tone, but still not completely gone. He tries a few more times and all he manages to do is soften the color, and he gives up, the stain already set, and drops the shirt into the sink, letting the running water rush against the fabric.   
  
He wrings the shirt as dry as he can and slips it on before washing his face one last time and pushing out the door.   
  
The first thing his eyes land on is Louis sitting at the counter, tracing his finger around the rim of his mug, and then Niall taking the order of a woman with a smile. The chairs are back in their place and the blood he left on the floor is gone, and he smiles when he sees Louis turn his head at his direction.   
  
He makes his way to Louis, trying to ignore the uncomfortable way his shirt’s sticking to his chest, and he sits himself back on his seat, where another sandwich has surprisingly appeared on the napkin next to a steaming cup of hot chocolate.   
  
“Thought you could use something to eat,” Louis says after taking a sip as Harry makes himself comfortable in the chair.   
  
“Thanks,” he replies, picking up the sandwich and taking a bite. Louis sets the mug down and watches him, and his eyes land on the stain. Harry turns his body and hunches over the counter so Louis can’t see.   
  
“Fuck, look at your shirt, it’s ruined,” Louis says, and Harry shakes his head with a laugh.   
  
“It’s just a shirt, Louis, don’t worry about it,” Harry assures him, taking a sip of the chocolate. “And I quite like it, actually. Very retro.”   
  
Louis utters a giggle and Harry grins.   
  
“And your face. How the hell are you supposed to perform with marks on your face?”   
  
Harry shrugs and watches the woman thank Niall for the coffee and make her way out the door.   
  
“I’m a fast healer. No need to worry.”   
  
“It’s in two days.”   
  
“I’ll try extra hard.”   
  
Before he can help it, Louis starts laughing, and he can feel his own laughter bubbling in his throat, and soon enough, they’re both cackling and howling and Harry’s slamming the side of his fist on the countertop and he’s not even sure why they’re laughing but he knows they need it, and he watches Louis through teary eyes as he rubs his eyes with his palms, getting out the last bit of laughter trapped in his chest.   
  
“What’s so funny?” Niall asks as he sweeps over to them, and Louis shakes his head and sniffs and laughs some more.   
  
::   
  
“I still feel bad about all this, Harry,” Louis admits, lifting his mug. Niall refills his coffee and turns back to the pizza he’s working on, and Louis can’t help but smile. He goes back to Harry. “You’re just a guy who got caught in the middle. I mean, you don’t even know who Zayn  _is_  and now you’re all cut up and bruised and your shirt’s ruined and you wouldn’t stop bleeding and—”   
  
Harry shakes his head and Louis stops.   
  
“It’s  _fine_ , Louis, really,” Harry says, and before Louis can say anything else, he adds, “It was a lot of fun. Well, you know, minus the whole getting beat-up part, but getting lost and finding a gig and, hell, getting in a fight my first day here’s pretty damn exciting. Most fun I had in a long time, I promise you.”   
  
Louis is grinning and Harry turns back to his chocolate.   
  
“At least let me take you home.”   
  
Harry looks up from his cup and slowly puts it back on the counter. Louis looks at him earnestly.   
  
“No, I can’t—I can’t do that to you. I mean, after everything that happened to you, you know, last night and, shit, just now, you don’t—you don’t need any more excitement.”   
  
Louis’s heart drops but he persists.   
  
“No, really, I don’t mind, and it’s the least I can do so please.”   
  
Harry shakes his head and opens his mouth to say something, but Louis clasps his hands together and says please a million times, and the next second, Harry’s laughing. He keeps his hands together.   
  
“I’ve got a moped and it’s really, really fun to ride, and here—”   
  
Louis hops from his seat and scrambles under the counter to pull out his helmet. He looks at it, then at Harry’s head, and he raises an eyebrow.   
  
“I  _think_  your head can fit in here,” he says, turning the helmet around and lifts it in the air until it looks like it’s sitting on top of Harry’s head. Harry laughs.   
  
“Yeah, maybe if I squeeze hard enough, it’ll slide right in and stay there.”   
  
It’s Louis’s turn to laugh and they’re both laughing again, Harry almost choking when he takes a bite of his sandwich.   
  
“You know, Niall’s deathly scared of mopeds, so I haven’t had the opportunity to ride with someone in a while,” Louis says, walking over to his seat, and Niall spins around when he hears his name.   
  
“It’s actually any two-wheeled vehicles,” he corrects to Harry after giving Louis a slap on the back, and Harry grins. “I don’t trust them. I mean, have you ever considered how scary it is that it can stand without any support? I’d rather take my chances walking, thank you very much.”   
  
The three boys laugh and Niall goes back to work, and Louis offers Harry the helmet with a smile.   
  
“What do you say?”   
  
Harry looks at the helmet, then at Louis, then back at the helmet again, and he grips the edge and takes it off Louis’s fingers. They look at each other and Louis feels his face beginning to heat up, and he swears he can see Harry starting to blush.   
  
“Why not?”


	5. Four

Maybe Niall had the right idea about two-wheeled vehicles.   
  
Parked in the area just around the bend, past the art store, the red moped looked so pristine and untouched, it could have been bought today, its sleek coating gleaming in the sunlight. Harry moves slightly to his left to avoid the glare. He can tell Louis takes very good care of it and he wishes he had the same patience to clean his guitar because the battle scars on the wooden surface are getting more noticeable by the day. He makes a mental reminder to clean it when he gets home.   
  
“So, here she is,” Louis says, extending a hand toward the vehicle, and he waits for Harry to start walking before ambling behind him. “The love of my life. Been through hell and back on this thing and she still looks brand new.”   
  
Harry nods and inspects it closer. The only other time he’s ever seen a vehicle under four wheels this close was when he was about ten and his older cousin had taken him for a drive around the neighborhood on the new motorcycle he got for his birthday. It may have been because at that time, he was just a tiny runt and everything seemed bigger than they actually were, especially the motorcycle, but when he gets closer and closer, the moped seems to shrink with each step, and when Louis clambers up and sits himself into the black leather seat, he highly doubts it’ll carry both of them at the same time.   
  
“Don’t worry,” Louis says when he sees Harry eyeing the vehicle with furrowed brows, and Harry watches him secure the helmet on his head. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I had to take Niall home after he got piss drunk at a party a few months back. It was his first time drinking and he threw up the entire ride.”   
  
Harry laughs and imagines Niall’s face beet-red and puking everywhere, and after considering the amount of effort it must have taken to get him home, he sighs and slides the helmet around his head. It’s snug but it fits, and after a very excited Louis moves forward a little to make room, he walks up and swings a leg over until he’s seated comfortably in the space behind him.   
  
“You’re sure about this?” Harry asks, and Louis nods as he grips the handlebars to rev up the engine. The moped shakes and Harry instinctively grips Louis’s waist in surprise. Louis jumps at the touch.   
  
“You alright?” Louis asks, looking over his shoulder.   
  
“Yeah, I’m just, erm, just a bit jumpy at this sort of stuff,” Harry says with a chuckle, and he quickly peels his hands off Louis’s waist, his face already turning red. Louis laughs and shifts in his seat, edging closer to Harry.   
  
“It  _is_  quite bumpy at first, I admit,” Louis says, and Harry feels his pulse quickening at their closeness, and he wishes that there’s more room behind him to move back because he’s afraid he might be a bit  _too_  close. Louis doesn’t seem to mind, however, and he goes on, “but it gets better after a while, trust me. You just have to get the hang of the movement and all that but once you get past that point, it’s all smooth sailing.”   
  
Harry nods but he’s not quite sure he heard what Louis said. There’s too many things going on at once—his heart’s pounding out of his ears, Louis’s backside is a needle’s width from the front of Harry’s pants, and he’s trying to find a happy medium between moving up against Louis and falling backward from his seat behind him.   
  
“Sorry if it’s uncomfortable, how close I am,” Louis apologizes, and Harry’s relieved he brought it up. “But the closer you are to the edge of the seat, the more weight you put in the back when we turn a corner and the more likely we are to get into an accident.”   
  
Harry shakes his head and fidgets with his helmet so his hands are doing something. “No, it’s fine, I get it. But, erm, where should I—”   
  
“Anywhere you want,” Louis cuts in with a shrug. “My shoulder or my waist is fine.”   
  
Before Harry can make a choice, Louis moves forward in his seat and motions with his head for Harry to follow. Harry gulps and shifts forward.   
  
“Alright, hold on tight,” Louis says, and with a rumble that shook Harry down to his toes, they move forward and Harry’s hands immediately grab for Louis’s waist, and soon, they’re driving down the street, the wind whipping Harry’s face and he’s glad he had the helmet to hold his hair down.   
  
“You said you lived just off Cheshire Street, right?” Louis asks loudly and Harry nods, unable to find his voice. He grips Louis’s waist tighter as they turn a corner. His waist is slim and tight, and it feels like it might break in two if Harry applied even the slightest of pressure, but he can’t seem to loosen his grip, and the more he tried, the harder they press down on Louis’s skin.   
  
“I’m going to go a little faster, okay?” Louis says, and Harry looks at him incredulously, wondering how much faster they can go, and when he feels the moped accelerating, it’s like a hook is pulling at his stomach through his back, and he holds on tighter when he feels like he’s going to fall backwards out of his seat.   
  
“You’re doing great!” Louis says, but Harry isn’t assuaged, and with each passing second, it seems like they’re going faster and faster, and it feels like he’s been risking his life the entire day for a boy he’s just barely met.   
  
::   
  
When Harry’s grip gets too tight for comfort, Louis takes his as a cue to slow down before he crushes his bones to dust, which shouldn’t be too hard for him considering how large his hands are. He dials it down and soon, Harry’s hands are relaxing, and he takes a deep breath and asks, “You alright back there?”   
  
“Still alive, I think,” Harry replies shakily and Louis laughs.   
  
“Have you ridden one of these before?”   
  
“Not a moped, no,” Harry says, the strength of his grip fluctuating as they hit a few bumps, “but my cousin took me for a drive on his motorcycle some years back. I can’t really remember how it went but I never rode another one ever since.”   
  
“You traumatized?”   
  
Harry laughs. “No, not that I can remember. I guess I’ve just forgotten how it feels like is all.”   
  
“True. Still, it’s pretty fun, right?”   
  
“Sure, if you use the term ‘fun’ loosely,” Harry jokes. Louis grins and Harry’s hands tighten when they ride past a truck backing up to turn the bend.   
  
“So, Cheshire Street, huh?” Louis says after finding the right speed to get Harry’s mind at ease. “Ni used to go there a lot.”   
  
“Yeah, to visit his friend, he told me,” Harry says, and Louis nods and wonders whatever  _did_  happen to Liam, with his shaggy brown hair and the birthmark on his neck. He knows Niall stopped seeing him after he left for uni but he’s never spoken about him since. He figures they just lost touch and never reconnected, but he knows Niall still misses him. Niall’s never had a large collection of friends growing up, only keeping those closest to him, and Louis knows that after him, Liam came a very close second. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought they were seeing each other. Thinking about it though, he’s never actually  _seen_  Niall attempt to have a relationship with anyone; if he wasn’t working or studying, he’d be locked up in his room playing with Jess or digging up his guitar and playing a few songs before resigning on the sofa in front of the telly and sleeping there—   
  
“Just moved to the flat this morning,” Harry cuts through his thoughts and he kicks himself inwardly when he realizes he’s missed his turn.   
  
“Did you?” Louis asks, turning at the next stoplight instead to get back to the right path. “How do you like it here?”   
  
“It’s great. I got a bit lost going around at first, though. Didn’t think I’d ever find my way back. Came across the café by pure accident.”   
  
“But that’s good, at least you have somewhere to start with your career path and everything.”   
  
“Yeah, definitely. And thank you for taking me home, really, you didn’t have to.”   
  
Louis laughs and shakes his head. It’s the hundredth time Harry’s said this but he never seems to tire of hearing it. Or hearing Harry’s voice in general.   
  
“Listen,” Louis starts, slowing down when he sees the yellow light. “If you’re not doing anything tomorrow, I’d be more than happy to show you around. I know this place like the back of my hand and it’ll be easier with the moped.”   
  
“No, you don’t have to do that,” Harry says, and Louis smiles when he hears it again. “I mean, you driving me home is more than enough. I don’t want to put more things on your plate with everything and—”   
  
“Come on, Harry, I got you a bloody broken nose your first day here,” Louis interjects. “And I have the day off tomorrow and the only thing I have to do all day is unpack my bags and  _maybe_  redecorate Niall’s room. What do you say?”   
  
Harry takes a moment to consider and his hands tighten when the light turns green. “Alright. I need to look for a job anyway and yeah, it’ll help  _loads_ . Thank you so much.”   
  
Louis grins, his face heating up, and he feels his stomach flip in joy. “No problem.”   
  
::   
  
Harry’s knees are wobbly when he peels his legs off the moped frame and plants them on the concrete, and he’s forgotten how much he loved solid ground.   
  
Louis has one foot on the ground and he watches Harry take the helmet off, and after shaking the curls loose with clawed fingers, he offers it back to Louis with a smile. Louis shakes his head.   
  
“I’ll take it back tomorrow. Have you got a mobile?”   
  
Harry nods and fishes it out of his pocket.   
  
“Dropped my phone this morning and it broke so I’ll have to go get a new one later,” Louis says, and Harry’s amazed at how quickly he’s pressing the buttons. Harry’s technological skills were rudimentary at best, and he’s not sure if he’s ever texted someone more than a hundred times. It’s usually just his guitar and a pen occupying his hands. “I’m giving you Niall’s number, okay? Just call me when you’re ready to go and I’ll be right there to pick you up.”   
  
Louis hands back the mobile and Harry brushes his skin as he reaches for it, sending a jolt down his arm. He smiles and looks down on the screen, eyes tracing out NIALL HORAN in big, bold letters.   
  
“Sure, alright,” Harry says, stuffing it back in his pocket and grinning at Louis. “I guess I’ll, er, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”   
  
“Yeah,” Louis says with a nod. “So, I guess I’ll be going now. Have a—have a good evening, Harry.”   
  
“Thanks. You too.” Harry tries to ignore the stinging in his cheeks and waves as Louis starts up the engine and speed off down the road. When Louis disappears around the corner and out of his view, he looks down at his hand holding the helmet and wonders how different his day would have been if he’d decided to stay home and work on his songs instead. He wonders if he would meet ever meet Louis again. He shakes his head, grips the straps tight, and pushes through the building doors with a smile on his face.   
  
“ _Shit!_ ” Harry exclaims when the door finally gives in, and he falls face-down on the floor with a loud  _thud_ , the helmet rolling across the room and stopping against the sofa. Picking himself up and rubbing his forehead, he sees Liam appear from the kitchen with a Chinese take away box, chopsticks stuck between his teeth.   
  
“You alright, mate?” he asks after taking the chopsticks out and sticking it in the box. “Did I not tell you to shake the handle as you’re opening the door?”   
  
Harry smiles, his face turning pink in embarrassment, and he walks over to the helmet and picks it up. “Sorry, I completely forgot. The whole day’s just been crazy.” He grimaces when he sees scratch marks on the smooth surface, and he sighs and tries to wipe it off with his sleeve.   
  
“You’re telling me,” Liam says, walking over to the sofa. “I was out over at— _God_ , what the hell happened to you!”   
  
Liam’s tone catches Harry off-guard and he jumps, dropping the helmet on the floor again, and he curses under his breath when he sees more scratch marks. “Nothing, I, er, I just fell walking down the street earlier. No big deal.”   
  
“Got in a  _fight_ , more like. Let me see.” Liam drops the box on the table and makes his way to Harry, eyes readily inspecting the bruise on his nose. He clamps his thumb and forefinger on the bridge of his nose and gives it a slight pinch, and Harry recoils and tosses his head back and out of Liam’s grip.   
  
“Shit, man, that  _hurts_ ,” Harry says, ghosting a finger over the stinging area. “It was just a small altercation.”   
  
“Alright, alright, I believe you,” Liam says before turning around and making his way back to the kitchen. “Better get some ice on that to reduce the swelling. Hang on.”   
  
Liam comes back with a bag of ice and Harry takes it with a smile. When he left this morning, Liam was missing a sock and the place was a dump. How did he get to be so fatherly all of a sudden? He presses the bag on his nose and winces in pain, but the relief washes over him in a second and soon, he’s making his way to the sofa, plopping down on the soft cushion and setting the helmet next to him.   
  
“So what happened?” Liam asks, picking up the box and sitting next to the helmet.   
  
“I was at this café, right, and this bloke comes in and starts threatening the barista out of nowhere,” Harry starts, putting it as simply as he can.   
  
“And you dove right in, didn’t you?” Liam asks after eating some of the noodles. Harry shrugs.   
  
“He was really nice to me, the barista. Got me my first performance here. I couldn’t just sit there, you know?”   
  
Liam nods and sets the box back on the table. “So you already made a friend, huh?”   
  
Harry smiles and places a hand on the helmet. “Two, actually.”   
  
Liam’s eyes drop to the helmet and he asks, “Oh, yeah, where did you get this anyway?”   
  
“One of them dropped me off today,” Harry replies, picking up the helmet and looking at it. “He’s going to show me around tomorrow.”   
  
“Oh, cool,” Liam says, standing up and snatching the box. “Have fun tomorrow, then. And don’t aggravate that nose.” He says the last part with a finger pointing at Harry’s face, and he laughs and stands up, fingers around the straps.   
  
“Thanks, I won’t,” Harry assures him, adjusting the bag on his nose, and Liam smiles and throws the box in the garbage.   
  
“There’s some more Chinese in the fridge if you want,” Liam says, making his way to his room.   
  
“Maybe later,” Harry calls out, and Liam utters a soft  _“goodnight, then”_  before disappearing behind the door. Harry smiles and makes his way to his own room. He sits down on the bed and props the helmet on the bedside table, his head swimming with images of everything that happened earlier, but especially of Louis, and he feels another smile creeping its way back to his lips, and when he closes his eyes and lies down, hands folded over his stomach, he can hear a song wrapping itself around his brain.   
  
::   
  
The sun has already started setting when Louis gets back to One Way, and when he ambles inside, he sees Niall already preparing to end his shift. The place is almost empty except for three people seated at different tables, and he stops and unclips the helmet and slides it off. He brings a hand to ruffle his hair and he makes his way to the bar, where Niall’s wiping down the countertop. He sets the helmet next to Niall’s hand and he looks up with a smile.   
  
“So, how did it go?” Niall asks, throwing the towel under the counter and undoing his apron. “Did he make it home alive?”   
  
“Just barely,” Louis says, watching Niall take off the apron and hang it on a hook on the back wall. “Took it better than you did your first time, actually.”   
  
Niall smiles and gives him a punch on the shoulder.   
  
“Mike wants to see you,” he says, tossing his head to Mike’s office, and Louis’s heart drops, fearing the worst.   
  
“He’s firing me, isn’t he?” Louis says, dropping his shoulders. Niall shakes his head.   
  
“He just wants to straighten some things out is all. Besides, he likes you too much to let you go.”   
  
“Sure,” Louis says with a chuckle, and he stands up and makes his way to Mike’s office, his heart picking up speed.   
  
He knocks three times and Mike’s voice sounds from behind the door.  _“Come in.”_   
  
Louis pushes through the door and sees Mike shuffling some papers on his desk, filing them neatly on the side. When Louis first applied for his job, Mike intimidated him. Nearly twice his size in both height and build, Louis almost wanted to go back outside and check if he misread the sign on the window, or if he’s even in the right establishment. People as burly as Mike usually worked at construction sites, Louis thought, or had a wrestling career. Either way, when he was being interviewed, he almost blurted out a quick apology and ran away in fear of what might happen to him if messed up on the job, but Mike turned out to be the best employer Louis ever had. One of the nicest people Louis has ever met, Mike was a sensitive soul trapped in a bodybuilder’s body.   
  
“Hey,” Louis says with a wave of his hand, and Mike drops the packet of papers on the desk to wave back.   
  
“Hi, Louis. Go on, take a seat.”   
  
Louis nods and sits down, resting his hands on his lap and twiddling his thumbs.   
  
“Are you alright?” Mike asks, folding his hands on the desk and leaning forward. Louis nods. “You know you can talk to me about anything, yeah? I’m not just your boss, you know.”   
  
“I know,” Louis says, eyes dropping to his hands. “I know.”   
  
Mike sighs and sits back in his chair. “How come you’ve never told me about the Zayn thing? I could’ve given him a proper whack over the head, you know. That’d make him leave you alone.”   
  
Louis brings his eyes back to Mike with a laugh and shakes his head. “Niall didn’t even know, really. I just thought it’d stop if I just gave him space and—I guess I was wrong.”   
  
“Well, anyway,” Mike says with a smile, “if you ever have trouble like that again, don’t hesitate to tell me, okay? That way, I can put these guns to good use. Show ‘em who they’re messing with.”   
  
Louis chuckles and nods, his mind getting more at ease.   
  
“So,” Mike continues, his brows knitting together. “Zayn’s banned from ever coming in here again. If he comes back in and I’m not there, you  _can_  call the police on him. They’ll come right up and take him away so you won’t have to worry about anything.”   
  
Louis clings to every word and he feels a weight lift off his chest. “Really?”   
  
“Yep,” Mike says, nodding. “ _But_ —and you have to listen, this is important—if you think it’s going to happen again, try to make sure it’s off the premises. I’ve had loads of complaints today and lost a lot of customers because of the disruption. I know it’s not your fault and I’m not blaming you, but please try to settle disputes away from work, okay? We’re already having trouble getting customers  _in_ .”   
  
“I completely understand,” Louis answers, sitting up straight and looking Mike in the eyes, “and I should have taken matters to my own hands, I shouldn’t have let Niall take it for me. Or Harry.”   
  
Mike’s eyes perk up at Harry’s name and he leans closer. “And about that. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before. Did you  _know_  him?”   
  
“Not really,” Louis says, shrinking back in his seat. “We just sort of got to know each other right before Zayn came.”   
  
“ _Shit_ ,” Mike says disappointedly, and when he opens his mouth to continue, Louis cuts in, “I know, I know. I was the same way. I felt  _terrible_ , I offered him a ride home and everything. And I offered to take him out and show him around tomorrow since it’s his first day in the city today and—”   
  
“His  _first_  day in the city and he got in a fight? With someone he doesn’t even  _know_ ?”   
  
“I know, I know, it’s  _really_  bad, isn’t it?” Louis says and Mike nods incredulously.   
  
“You had better show him a good time tomorrow, then,” Mike tells him, and Louis nods earnestly. “And the next time he comes here, give him whatever he wants on the house, the poor lad.”   
  
“I will, don’t you worry,” Louis says, getting up from his seat. “I’ll make everything right, you’ll see.”   
  
“I trust you, Tomlinson, now get out of here and get some rest,” Mike says, and Louis excuses himself with a _“goodnight”_  and slips out the door with a wave.   
  
Niall’s already waiting for him on the other side of the door with the shopping bags in his hands, and he walks up to him with a smile.   
  
“So?” Niall asks, giving Louis a bag to carry.   
  
“Well, Zayn’s banned from coming in here.”   
  
“That’s good. What else?”   
  
Louis turns to him with a grin, cheeks flushing, and Niall’s eyes narrow, brows coming together.   
  
“I, erm, well, I’m taking Harry out tomorrow.”


	6. Five

Harry stirs the contents of his cereal bowl as he bites on the end of his pen, fingers tapping rhythmically on the kitchen table and eyes going over the lyrics written down on his notebook. There’s papers strewn all over the table, some crumpled, some ripped in half, pushed aside to the left. The ones on the right are lined up, most with red marks crossing off, underlining, or replacing words.   
  
He stops stirring, slides off the pen from his lips, and writes down a few lines in the notebook, words spilling out from his brain as easily as the flow of ink on paper. He’s been writing for a few hours since he woke up at four in the morning. He was still tired but he couldn’t go back to sleep, and after going for a quick run around the neighborhood to calm his mind, he decided to work on his unfinished songs instead. However, working on unfinished songs eventually took a backseat, because before he knew it, he was writing completely new songs—different from the songs he usually wrote—faster than he’s ever written before. The words kept on coming one right after another, as if he had the entire song mapped out somewhere in the back of his head and was simply putting them on a piece of paper word for word, and he was quite surprised when he managed to fill half the notebook in the course of an hour. Where the inspiration had come from still baffles him, but looking at all the songs on the table, enough to fill an entire album if he wished, he reckons it had something to do with everything that happened yesterday.   
  
Something to do with Louis.   
  
He pushes the chair back and walks over to get a drink from the refrigerator. As he’s grabbing the carton of orange juice, he hears Liam’s door open, and in another moment, he sees Liam walking slowly into the living room in his pajama bottoms, rubbing his eyes with a big yawn. Harry goes back in his seat and snatches all the papers, filing them neatly in a pile next to the notebook and gathering up the throwaways and pushing them off to one corner. Liam strides over and brings up a hand to shield his eyes from the light.   
  
“Mate, it’s six in the morning. What are you doing up this early?”   
  
“Couldn’t sleep last night.”   
  
Liam smiles and takes a seat opposite Harry, elbows propped on the table, cheeks in his palms. “Still excited from yesterday, huh?”   
  
Harry smiles back with a nod. “Yeah, it was all pretty crazy.”   
  
Liam yawns and scratches his head. “How’s the nose?”   
  
Harry gives the bridge of his nose a light squeeze. “It doesn’t hurt as much and the swelling’s gone down. I’m a fast healer so I wasn’t really worried.”   
  
“I can see that,” Liam says, leaning over to get a closer look. “Still looks a bit raw but it’ll probably clear up in a day or two. When did you say your performance was again?”   
  
“I didn’t, but it’s tomorrow,” Harry replies, taking a spoonful of the soggy cereal and grabbing the pen. “It’s at this café called One Way if you want to come.”   
  
Liam’s eyes perk up at the name. “One Way? Man, I haven’t been there since I left for uni. I’d forgotten all about it. It’s still there?”   
  
“Yeah, and it’s really nice,” Harry says with a nod. Liam smiles and sits back in his chair, hands linked on his stomach.   
  
“I used to work there,” Liam says and Harry leans in, interested. “I haven’t had much time to visit ever since I dropped out and started working. I remember meaning to, but I never had time between my jobs and it all sort of just fell out of my mind one day. You wouldn’t happen to know if a bloke by the name of Niall Horan still works there, would you?”   
  
Niall’s face immediately pops in Harry’s mind and he nods excitedly. “Yeah, he was the one who got threatened!”   
  
“Shit, man, really?” Liam exclaims, leaning over. “He was my best mate. We were—” He cuts himself off and he sits back again, his expression hard to pinpoint. He tears his eyes from Harry’s and grabs a ball of paper. “We were, erm, we were really close, me and Niall. Knew each other since we were twelve. Can’t find a better friend than him if you tried. He got me out of some tight spots and he never complained. I wish we’d kept in touch.”   
  
Harry nods, remembering how Niall had stood up to Zayn to protect Louis despite knowing what he was capable of. His first impression of Niall was an impossibly nice person who can’t seem to stop smiling, and from that, it was no question why Liam spoke highly of him.   
  
“Anyway,” Liam says suddenly, bringing Harry back to him. “That means Lou’s still working there.”   
  
Harry nods and this time, it’s not just Louis’s face that pops in his mind—the feeling of his waist, the touch of his hand, the way he says his name—and he closes his eyes and tries to push them out.   
  
“Yeah, he’s the one taking me around,” Harry says, opening his eyes and trying to focus on Liam, who’s raising an eyebrow. “He’s nice, too. They both are.”   
  
Liam nods, places the ball back on the table, and stands up, making his way to the fridge. “I was never really close with Louis, to tell you the truth.” He rummages inside and pulls out a bottle of water. “The only thing we had in common was Niall, really. It’s not that we didn’t get along—he’s a great lad—but we never really saw each other outside of Niall’s company. And the times that we did, he was always with his boyfriend.”   
  
Harry’s mind flashes to Zayn with his hands in his pockets talking calmly talking to Niall before erupting into a rage. It seems that they’d been together for a while, and he wonders how long the abuse lasted before Louis finally took it upon himself to leave. It’s another thing that nags him about the whole situation—why  _did_  Louis stay in the first place?   
  
“Zayn,” Harry says under his breath but Liam hears it, and he nods at Harry as he walks back to his seat.   
  
“How did you know?” Liam asks, stretching his arms in the air and yawning. Harry bites his tongue and Liam continues. “We went to school together, me and Zayn. Shy little kid when we first met, and probably would have stayed that way, too, if he didn’t turn out to be so damn handsome. Fun guy to be around, always chipper. Are they still together, him and Lou?”   
  
Harry’s brain is going a hundred miles an hour and he replays the question in his head. He’s not sure what to think anymore—at first, Zayn was cool, calm, very soft-spoken, then the next second, he’s grabbing people by the collar and exchanging blows with complete strangers, and now, Liam’s saying he’s fun to be with. Just how much  _“fun”_  was Louis having with him when he came home with bruises on his face? He takes a moment to consider recounting everything that happened to Liam but he decides against it, opting instead on shaking his head and saying, “They broke up.”   
  
Liam grimaces and takes another sip. “Bummer. They always looked so happy together. I thought they’d get married one day.”   
  
Harry feigns a smile and turns the page on his notebook. He’s not sure if it’s the right thing to do to tell Liam that Zayn’s been abusing Louis, but then again, it’s not his place to stir something up between friends. He doesn’t know them well enough to meddle—he doesn’t even know Louis’s last name. He sighs and taps the tip of the pen on the blank page, poking black marks above the first line.   
  
“Well, no sense in going back to sleep now,” Liam says, jumping up from his seat and strolling over to the burners behind them. He picks up a pan from the cupboard and starts to cook some eggs. Harry listens to the sizzling as he scrawls the words  _“why didn’t you leave?”_  above the ink dots. “What do you want for breakfast? We have blueberry pancakes somewhere and there’s some bacon in here.”   
  
Harry turns to him with a smile. “I’ll just have what you’re having.”   
  
“Perfect. Coming right up,” Liam says, and Harry reaches for his red marker and crosses out the words, and he writes _“I’m glad you left”_  underneath.   
  
::   
  
A pillow to the head jolts Louis awake, and when he cracks his eyes open, he sees Niall hovering over him with a fist rubbing his eye and his mobile in his free hand stretched towards him a few inches from his face. His eyes search for the clock and he sighs when it reads 8:04.   
  
“Niall, it’s too early to be playing around. Go back to sleep, for God’s sake.” He flips over to his other side, his back to Niall, and throws a pillow on his head. He groans when he feels Niall prodding his back with a finger and he turns to look at him over his shoulder, brows furrowed and eyes tiny slits. “Come on, Horan, let me get back to sleep or I’ll throw Jess out the window.”   
  
“It’s Harry,” Niall says flatly, and Louis scrambles at once and snatches the phone from his hand, his heart speeding up.   
  
“Hello?” Louis says as he watches Niall totter back to his bed and collapse face-down with a grunt.   
  
_“Hey, Louis. Good morning. Did I wake you up?”_   
  
“No, no, I was already awake,” Louis says, trying to suppress a yawn. “What’s up?”   
  
_“Couldn’t sleep last night. My nose kept waking me up.”_   
  
“Sorry about that,” Louis says, sitting up and scratching his head. “I couldn’t sleep, either. Well, up until a few hours ago at least. Are you feeling better?”   
  
_“I should be asking you the same thing, but yeah, I’m healing just fine. Hopefully, I’m close to being back to normal tomorrow.”_   
  
“Me too,” Louis says with a smile, and when he sees Niall tossing and turning, he continues in a hushed tone, “Listen, I’ll pick you up in an hour, okay? I have to let Niall get back to sleep or he’ll throw a fit.”   
  
_“Alright. I’ll see you then. Bye.”_   
  
“Bye.” He ends the call and sits for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts and trying to slow his heartbeat. Satisfied, he stands up and places the mobile on the dresser.   
  
“You gave him my number without telling me,” Niall says after turning his head to look at Louis, and Louis smiles and lies down on the spot next to him, eyes fixed on the ceiling.   
  
“Sorry about that, I forgot to tell you. But at least you’re awake now, yeah?”   
  
“You owe me,” Niall says with a groan, and Louis drops his eyes to him and gives him a poke on the cheek. Niall laughs and turns his head the other way.   
  
“I’ll make you some breakfast then.”   
  
He swings his legs over the edge and jumps down, and as he’s reaching the doorknob, he hears Niall call after him, “More bacon.”   
  
He smiles. “More bacon.”   
  
::   
  
Harry fixes his hair in the mirror and tugs at his collar, wondering if he’s overdressed for a day out—a red checkered polo shirt under a beige sweater vest, white khaki trousers, and grey converses. He’s just about to take the vest off when his mobile rings, and he smiles when Louis tells him he’s right outside. Looking at himself one more time in the mirror, he straightens the vest, grabs his keys and Louis’s helmet, and sprints down the endless flight of stairs. He’s huffing when he reaches the door to the building and he composes himself and wipes the sweat from his forehead before walking out the doors and seeing Louis on his moped with a smile.   
  
“Hey,” he says with a wave of his hand.   
  
“Hi,” Louis replies, eyes immediately landing on his nose. “Well, your nose looks better. Still makes you look badass.”   
  
Harry laughs and runs a finger down the length of his nose, ignoring the tiny needles pricking his skin.   
  
“You think?”   
  
“Definitely,” Louis says, grinning. Harry can feel his face getting red. “You ready?”   
  
Harry nods and walks over to the vehicle, and once he’s firmly seated in his spot and his helmet’s secured, he reaches for Louis’s waist without hesitation, and a shiver runs down his spine. When Louis chuckles, he wonders if he felt it too.   
  
Harry’s more comfortable riding this time around, and he’s not putting as much pressure on Louis’s waist like he did before, which Louis probably appreciates. They’re going at a leisurely pace, Louis keeping mind not to go too fast, and soon, Harry’s relaxing and enjoying the wind whipping around his face as they headed for One Way.   
  
Just past the art store, Louis stops on the curb and looks ahead, and Harry takes his hands off his waist and inches his head sideways to see what he’s looking at.   
  
“Over there,” Louis starts, pointing a few ways down the café at a store with a large guitar sitting above the entrance, “is the record store. It’s pretty massive so you’ll find nearly everything you’re looking for.” He points to the establishment directly across it and adds, “And that’s Bistro Eleanor. It’s a relatively new restaurant and I’ve only gone there once, but the food was good and the service was nice. Definitely a place to watch out for. Let’s see. Oh, and past those two, there’s a bakery on the left and a book store across, and all the way down is the shopping mall. There’s not much between One Way and everywhere else, but they offer good distractions.”   
  
Harry nods and tries to remember where all of them are. Record store—check. Bistro Eleanor—check. Bakery—check. Bookstore—check. Shopping mall—check. Louis looks at him over his shoulder and asks him where he wants to go first.   
  
“The nearest one, I guess,” Harry says with a shrug. “The record store.”   
  
Louis nods but he doesn’t start up the moped, only looking forward, and Harry knits his brows together, confused.   
  
“What’s wrong?” he asks, and Louis shakes his head with a shrug.   
  
“I just thought I’d let you know that Zayn works there,” Louis replies, and when he hears Harry start to say that he’s changed his mind and they don’t have to go there, he shakes his head and smiles. “Don’t worry, he’s off for the day, and I don’t want you to be discouraged from going there just because of him. Maybe you’ll see your CD there someday, you never know, and it’s the only record store in miles.”   
  
Harry laughs and there’s excitement bubbling in his chest. The thought of seeing his own CD amidst all of his idols gives him a rush and soon, he’s seeing his name up in lights, at the top of the charts, played in all the big radio stations, performing in front of thousands in sold-out arenas. The excitement falls as quickly as it comes and he sighs and shakes his head—no, not yet. Not even close. As much as he’d like to be lifted off his feet and thrown into the business with a wave of a hand, he knows it’s going to take time and effort and luck, and thinking about everything that’s happened in just the past twenty-four hours, he’s beginning to think he might not be the luckiest person in the world.   
  
But then he looks at Louis and thinks of Niall and Liam and his parents and maybe there’s some luck buried in there, and all he has to do is break the surface and let it blossom.   
  
“I don’t think we’ll be seeing my CDs there anytime soon,” Harry says with a chuckle. “Maybe in five years if I’m lucky.”   
  
Louis smiles and turns back to the road. “I wouldn’t be so sure. It’s never a sure thing, and sometimes we go months without seeing some, but if you’re lucky, you’ll see some agents there. They’re not hard to miss—just look for rich-looking old chaps with pinstripe suits. I wouldn’t necessarily start hoping, but just keep an eye out for them.”   
  
Harry nods and he’s not sure what he’s feeling—excited, anxious,  _scared_ . He tries to shake it off and instinctively reaches for Louis’s waist. Louis is probably used to Harry’s grip by now and this time, he doesn’t jump, and with a shake, they start off a few ways down the road, stopping in front of the record store.   
  
::   
  
The look on Harry’s eyes when he first saw the inside of the record store was priceless—his bright green eyes were glittering and his mouth was slightly open, and Louis gives him a nudge on the side to bring him back to reality. The record store  _is_  pretty impressive: two floors of CDs, headphones, even various instruments like guitars and drum sets. There’s two sets of escalators on either side, and there’s posters all over the walls. Louis turns to look at Harry to say something but he’s disappeared, and Louis finds him shuffling through CDs behind him like a boy given unlimited access to a candy store.   
  
“So cool,” Harry says, flipping through the albums at breakneck speed and Louis watches him with a smile. “They have all of the albums, don’t they? I’ve literally searched everywhere for a copy of  _Take That and Party_  but I couldn’t find it anywhere where I lived. This is great!”   
  
Louis laughs and Harry lifts the album and looks at it closely, thoroughly fascinated.   
  
“You know, I worked here for a while,” Louis says, and Harry tears his gaze away from the album and looks at him. “Just to earn enough to get my moped and save up for my own place.”   
  
Harry wonders if that’s where they met and was about to tell him he’s going to try to apply for a job, but the thought of working with Zayn makes him think twice, and instead, he says to Louis, “Hey, would you mind checking out the bakery with me? I think I want to apply for a job.”   
  
Louis raises an eyebrow. “Why the bakery?”   
  
“Just ‘cause,” he replies with a shrug. “My mum used to bake for us all the time and I know it’s only been two days but I miss it.”   
  
Louis doesn’t take a moment to consider and says, “Of course not. Come on.”   
  
He motions with his head to the exit and Harry leaves with the album in a small plastic bag and Louis with a new set of headphones.   
  
::   
  
Next to a building up for lease, the bakery is modestly-sized, with a light-blue façade and the words  _Wonderland Bakery_  elegantly painted on the glass windows in white. They pass through the single door and a bell tinkles from a distance, and at once, Harry walks into the smell of a thousand pastries. It’s more spacious inside than it looks from the outside, and there are tables scattered around the blue checkered floor, tiered pastry stands atop each one. There’s cream puffs the shape of swans macarons, chocolate truffles, and little cakes that look like presents with tiny designs on top. Harry can feel his mouth watering. It’s empty except for an elderly lady giving money to the cashier for the small bag of treats she’s holding, and after thanking her and walking past them, Harry sees the cashier putting the receipt in a small basket next to the cash register.   
  
The very pretty young woman with dirty blonde hair met eyes with Harry, and she gives him a smile. He smiles back and walks up to her, and he hears Louis following behind him.   
  
“Welcome to Wonderland Bakery, how may I help you today?” she says in a sugary voice, and Harry looks at her name tag: CAROLINE. He smiles and looks at the pastries some more, debating whether to ask immediately or buy something first. The display case in front of him is filled with cakes, tarts, and cookies, and he decides on buying two sugar cookies and two blueberry muffins.   
  
“Hey, erm, is this bakery hiring?” Harry asks as Caroline places the pastries in a paper bag.   
  
“Oh, yes we are, actually,” she replies, putting the bag on the counter and punching Harry’s order in the register. “One of our decorators just quit last week and we’ve been trying to fill her spot. As of right now, I’m juggling between decorating and cashier, and we can definitely use another hand. Do you know someone who’s interested?”   
  
Harry chuckles and scratches his head as he gives her the money. “Me, actually. I’m, er, I’ve just moved here and I’m trying to look for a job. Anything’s fine, really, I’ll take any job I can get—even dishwashing.”   
  
Caroline laughs and hands him the bag, blue eyes never leaving his. “There’s not really a dishwashing position here. It’s just a clean-as-you-go type of thing. But we  _do_  need a cashier and you can get trained for it so why not ask the manager. She’s just through that door.” She points to the door next to the display case and Harry grins at her. She leans in with her elbows on the case and adds softly, “She can be a bit scary at first but if you’re polite, she’ll warm right up.   
  
“Thank you,” he says, and he can see her cheeks tinting with pink. She turns away as he takes the bag off the counter, and he goes back to Louis, who’s busying himself looking at the cone-shaped tower of small pastry balls, little sugar flowers poking out from the holes in between. Harry places a hand on his shoulder and he turns around, meeting his eyes.   
  
“Can you hold this for a second?” Harry asks, offering the bag. “I’m just going to talk to the manager about getting a job here. You can eat some now if you want. They’re for us to share, anyway.”   
  
Louis takes the bag with a nod and Harry gives him an excited smile, whispering  _“wish me luck”_  and crossing his fingers before spinning around and making his way to the door. He knocks on the door three times and a voice sounds from the other side.   
  
_“Come in, whoever you are.”_   
  
The last thing he sees is Caroline grinning and giving him a thumb’s up before he twists the doorknob and slips inside. An Asian woman, probably in her early thirties, with her black hair tied up in a bun and small, thin glasses resting on the bridge of her nose is sitting behind a desk, quickly tapping the keys on her calculator and writing down numbers on the paper in her clipboard. Her thin, pale face is focused on the papers on the desk, filed neatly in rows, and Harry feels uncomfortable standing there without being given the slightest of attention. He watches as she crosses out numbers and punches in more numbers in her calculator, and he nearly jumps out of his skin when she speaks.   
  
“You can sit down,” she says, her voice sharp and ice-cold, without looking up. Harry clears his throat and sits on the chair in front of her, his heart beginning to pick up speed. She stops typing in her calculator and drops her pen, and the silence that ensues is so palpable, Harry can run a knife through it. She meets his eyes for the first time and she raises an eyebrow.   
  
“Well?” she asks quickly, and Harry shifts in his seat and sits straight up, eyes glued to her.   
  
“I, erm, I—I’m just wondering if I—if you have a, er, a job open for a drop—drop in applicant,” he stammers, face heating up for tripping over his words like an idiot. She keeps his eyes to him, face stoic, unmoving, and he takes a deep breath, debating whether to drop the whole thing and run out as fast as he can.   
  
She waits for a moment to reply, and just as Harry’s about to jump from his seat and tell her to forget it, her face cracks a small smile and she starts to laugh. Harry’s scared and confused and he wants to ask her why she’s laughing but there’s a lump in his throat. The laugh, which only lasts for a few seconds, felt like forever, and she takes her glasses off and sets them slowly on the desk.   
  
“You’ll need to work on your speech if you’re planning on applying for jobs,” she says, her smile getting wider, the coldness in her voice gone, replaced by a sweetness rivaling that of Caroline’s. He sighs in relief and manages a crooked smile.   
  
“I’m sorry, I was just really nervous,” he admits, and she waves a hand dismissively.   
  
“Even so, you shouldn’t let your future employer see it. Fake it if you have to. It makes for a bad first impression.”   
  
“Was mine bad?” Harry asks sheepishly, and she laughs again, picking up her glasses and putting them back on.   
  
“Just a little bit, but I’m not going to hold it against you.”   
  
Harry grins and his heartbeat starts to mellow down.   
  
“I’m Jennifer Chang. Jenny for short.” She extends a hand and Harry takes it. He’s quite surprised at her grip, strong and firm despite how delicate her fingers look. She’s the first to pull back and he drops his hand to the space in the chair next to him. “Now, tell me about yourself.”   
  
Harry clears his throat. “I’m Harry Styles and I’m trying to be a musician.”   
  
::   
  
Louis watches Caroline speaking with a woman and her child as he takes small bites of his cookie, and he’s taken it upon himself to study her while he waits for Harry to get back. She’s tall with a bustline probably bolstered by a push-up bra, a wasp-like waist, and a constant smile. Robotic. She hands the woman the bag and gives the little boy a cake pop, who shyly turns away when he reaches for it. She laughs and tells them to have a nice day, and when he hears the tinkling of the bell, they lock eyes for a split second and she gives him a smile. Louis returns it and takes a large bite of the cookie. She tears her eyes away and looks at the door where Harry disappeared, and Louis rolls his eyes, turns around, and goes back to inspecting the food, wondering what’s taking Harry so long.   
  
Then, as though he had heard his thoughts, Harry emerges from the door with a smile on his face. Louis comes to him at once and asks him how it went.   
  
“She says she’s going to call me tomorrow if I get the job,” Harry replies, and Louis gives him a light punch on the shoulder.   
  
“Nice!” Louis exclaims, handing him back the bag. Harry takes it and turns around to look at Caroline, who’s busying herself with new customers. Louis follows his eyes and sees Caroline lift her head for a second to give Harry a smile, and again, she gives him a thumb’s up. Harry reciprocates the action and tells Louis he wants to go somewhere to eat. Louis nods, glad to find an excuse to leave the bakery, and he looks at Caroline one last time before they reach the doors.   
  
She’s staring at Harry with a small smile, and he feels his face burning and his heart picking up speed when he sees Harry grinning, staring right back.


	7. Six

Louis thinks too much when he’s not talking.   
  
He reckons he does it unconsciously to fill in the silence ringing in his ears, and probably because there isn’t much going on in his life  _but_  to think. Whatever the reason is, there’s always something filling his head, whether it comes from his lips or his brain, and right now, as he’s looking at the ceiling with his hands linked on his stomach and listening to the soft, deep snores Niall’s emitting next to him (he had climbed into Louis’s bed a few hours earlier after waking up from a bad dream), he’s thinking about the first time he talked to Zayn.   
  
_It’s raining when he pushes through the doors leading outside the school building and he silently berates himself for forgetting his umbrella. Everyone’s scurrying about with books and bags held over their heads (and umbrellas for the prepared) as their feet make splashes on the wet cement, and he has half a mind to just stand by the doors and wait out the rain like a sensible person would. He reckons he doesn’t have anything better to do at home. Watch a movie, maybe, or finish his homework, but nothing so important that he has to rush home. He sighs and sits down on the steps, hugging his rucksack and watching students disperse and dwindle. He spots some of his friends, including Niall, and waves at them. Niall stays and talks for a while until he gets a call from his mother saying she’s there, and he gives Louis a bump on the knuckle before scampering down the steps and running towards his mother’s car.  
  
Fifteen minutes of boring surveillance pass and Louis sees a small group of people gathering and chatting about around a tree in the courtyard, and he stands up and cranes his neck to see what’s going on. Failing to see anything through the wall of bodies, he walks down the steps and makes his way to them. When he gets closer, one of the girls turns around with a large grin on her face and a tiny kitten cradled in her arms, talking excitedly with her friend, who’s petting an identical one. As moments pass, the rest start to move away, each with a kitten in their hands, and Louis is left curious, wondering who might have left them. After the last person leaves, he inches closer and sees a damp white box sitting against the tree, and, dropping down to a squat and peering inside, he finds a lone kitten curled up in a corner where the rain doesn’t reach, fur a faint auburn color, tiny little breaths making its chest rise and fall, sleeping. He looks around and, seeing no one, he reaches down and runs a finger down its back. Its entire body bristles and suddenly, it’s awake and staring at him with bright, blue eyes. He’s so enamored by the kitten that he doesn’t realize someone’s standing beside him, and it’s only when he hears the voice that he jumps and shoots up to his feet and finds himself face-to-face with Zayn Malik.  
  
“You beat me to it,” he had said with a smile, and it takes a while for Louis to process the words because he’s too busy trying to get over the initial surprise. He gives Zayn a crooked smile, turns away, and squats back down, face tinting with pink. After all the years he’s admired him from afar, Louis has never been this close to him, and the rapid beating of his heart makes him forget that he’s getting drenched under the rain. Zayn moves closer and gets down until his umbrella’s covering the both of them, and Louis watches as he brings a hand to scratch the back of the kitten’s ear. “Forgot your umbrella?”  
  
Louis nods, “Mhm,” as he brings a hand to scratch behind the other ear. He hears Zayn chuckle. “Likes the attention, don’t it?”  
  
Louis looks at him from the corners of his eyes and takes his hand back. “You can have it if you want.”  
  
Zayn shakes his head and picks it up. “Can’t. My mum’s allergic to fur. I only wanted to pet it, is all.” The kitten purrs in his hands and he gives it a soft kiss on the nose. Louis can’t help but watch.  
  
“I wasn’t planning on taking it either,” Louis says with a shrug.  
  
“You should, she looks so scared,” Zayn says, standing up and offering her. Louis gets up and looks at Zayn for a moment before taking her off his hands. Their skins brush together and Louis’s heart skips a beat, and he brings the kitten close to his heart and cradles it in his arm. Zayn watches and smiles until his eyes disappear, and rubs his thumb in the space between her eyes until she’s purring again.  
  
“I think she likes you,” Louis says, almost coinciding with the words ‘I like you’ swimming restlessly in his head, and Zayn chuckles again.  
  
“She’s a precious little thing,” Zayn says, hitching up his rucksack over his shoulder with his free hand. “Have you got a ride home?”  
  
Louis shakes his head, keeping his eyes to the kitten. “I walk.”  
  
“You’ll get sick in this weather, you know.”  
  
Louis shrugs. “I was going to wait it out.”  
  
“Let me walk you home then.”  
  
Louis’s mind shuts down and it’s the first time he finds his brain not bustling with activity, and he stares at Zayn in disbelief, as if he had heard wrong or his ears were playing tricks on him. Zayn keeps his eyes to him expectantly and he feels the kitten stirring, and when he looks down, he sees it give a great yawn. He thinks his heartbeat’s the culprit because it’s throbbing against his chest, and when he lifts his head and meets Zayn’s eyes again, he can feel flames licking their way to his face under his skin.  
  
“You—you don’t have to do that,” Louis stammers, embarrassment filling his bones. Zayn laughs and it sends shivers down his spine.  
  
“I’ll sleep better tonight knowing she made it home safe without a fever.”  
  
Louis gives a soft sigh and looks down on the ground. Of course it’s the cat.  
  
“And I don’t want you getting a fever, too.”  
  
Louis snaps his head back to him and he feels a smile curling the edges of his lips. Zayn stuffs his free hand in his pocket and taps the ground with the tip of his shoe. “So, what do you say?”  
  
“I’d love it.” It escapes his throat before his mind wraps around the words and he’s sure Zayn heard the desperation in every syllable. But Zayn grins and his heart flips and turns and he hugs the kitten closer to his body because he doesn’t know what else to do.  
  
“It’s Louis, right?” Zayn asks, and Louis likes the way his name sounds coming from his lips. He nods and looks at the hand Zayn’s offering.  
  
“I’m Zayn.”  
  
Louis sheepishly takes it with his own and he feels the coarseness of his skin. It sends a chill down to his toes and the handshake lasts longer than necessary, but Zayn doesn’t seem to mind, the smile on his face seemingly permanent. Louis smiles back and enjoys the warmth of Zayn’s fingers seeping into his skin.  
  
“I know.”_   
  
“You’re doing it again.”   
  
Niall’s voice drags him back to reality and his eyes are back to tracing patterns in the ceiling, a fading echo reverberating in his ears. The snoring’s stopped and he feels Niall shifting in his spot, making the bedsprings creak and making Jess dash down to the floor at the disturbance. Louis rips his gaze from the ceiling and turns his head to look at Niall, blue eyes gleaming even under the strips of moonlight spilling through the curtains.   
  
“Doing what?”   
  
“Humming that song.” Niall closes his eyes and turns his head to face the ceiling. “You were thinking about it again, weren’t you? When you got Jess?”   
  
“No,” Louis denies, trying to remember if he had, indeed, been humming. “And what, you can read minds now?”   
  
Niall chuckles under his breath and lightly elbows Louis’s side. Louis elbows back. “You always hum when you’re thinking about it. You told me yourself, remember?”   
  
Louis shakes his head. “No, not really.”   
  
Niall sighs and turns his body to face Louis. Louis keeps his eyes to the ceiling.   
  
“You still miss him, don’t you?”   
  
The words hit Louis hard and there’s a knot forming in his stomach. Zayn’s said and lied about a lot of things, but one thing that Louis knows without a shred of doubt is that Zayn truly did care for him. Even after he started drinking, he would tell Louis that he was the luckiest man alive and that he’d do anything to keep him by his side, and Louis knows that it’s not just drunken, empty nonsense that he forces out of his throat because he wants to keep Louis happy (because he’s said them when he was sober, too), as much as he convinces himself otherwise. His feelings might not have been as evident as they initially were at the start of their relationship, but Louis could still see bits and pieces of the old Zayn behind the ringed, bloodshot eyes coming home late at night with a bottle in his hand, and that the apologies and  _“I love you”_ s he whispers in Louis’s ears every night contain buds of truth held between each letter.   
  
“I do,” Louis says under his breath.   
  
“Even after everything?” Niall brings a hand and ghosts his fingers over the bruise healing under Louis’s eye. “Even after this?”   
  
Louis takes Niall’s hand and slides it down the bed, holding it in the small space between them. “You wouldn’t understand.”   
  
Niall closes his fingers over Louis’s and moves closer. “Help me to.”   
  
Louis shakes his head and slides his hand from Niall’s grip, resting it on his stomach. “Go get some sleep. You’ve got a big day in store for you later.”   
  
“Don’t remind me,” Niall says with a groan, twisting onto his back and sliding further under the covers until only his eyes remain visible. Louis can feel his eyelids getting heavier and he yawns, and in another moment, he feels Jess reclaiming her spot back against his foot between his legs. He smiles and gives her head a little tap with his toe through the blanket, and when he hears Niall’s snoring filling his ears once again, he feels the song, the one Zayn sang to him as he walked him home, making its way out of his throat in a series of low, delicate hums.   
  
::   
  
Harry’s never questioned his sexuality.   
  
He knew he liked girls the moment he discovered that cooties weren’t real and that when they giggled and laughed at his jokes, it was the most wonderful feeling in the world. He loved the way their hips swayed when they walked, the way their breasts bounced, the way their legs stretched to forever, the way their lips felt pressing against his. And he’s had his fair share of girlfriends over the years and, even though none of them were ever really serious, he had fun and he’s never had eyes for the same sex.   
  
That is, until Louis came along.   
  
Harry can’t figure it out—can’t figure  _him_  out. For all intents and purposes, Louis is a generic boy— _normal_ . He has hair like a boy, stubble like a boy, chest like a boy, hands like a boy—hell, he even smells like a boy. But looking closer, it’s not that streamlined, not that easy. There’s something about him that sticks. Maybe it’s the way he looks at him with those bright, blue eyes, the way lines poke themselves into the skin around his eyes when he laughs, or the feeling of his waist (so tight and fragile) in his hands. Maybe it’s none of them at all. But what he  _does_  know is that he’s starting to feel something for Louis, and he doesn’t know if it’s the right thing to do to make a move.   
  
Sighing, he pats down his collar and moves away from the mirror, and he makes his way to the kitchen where Liam, his head bobbing to the music blasting through his earphones as he washes the dishes, has already cooked up a breakfast on the table. Harry takes a seat and pulls the plate closer to him, a long arm reaching for the pancakes.   
  
“Excited for today?” Liam says so suddenly, Harry drops a pancake on the table. He didn’t even think Liam acknowledged him coming in.   
  
“Just a little.”   
  
“You’ve got a lot going on today, huh?” Liam says, putting the last dish in the drying rack and sitting opposite Harry. Harry nods and begins to cut the pancake in small pieces. He hears the clatter of silverware and looks up to see Liam working on a piece of sausage as he sets his iPod on the table. He looks back down and takes a small bite, and he doesn’t realize he’s forgotten the syrup until it’s halfway down his throat.   
  
“You seem distracted,” Liam says after taking a sip of orange juice. Harry shrugs and reaches for the syrup bottle next to Liam’s arm. “Nerves?”   
  
“Just been thinking,” Harry replies, and Liam watches him with curiosity. He shrugs in an attempt to drop the subject but Liam persists.   
  
“About what? Come on, you can tell me.”   
  
Harry sighs and looks at Liam, eyes burning with interest and lips curling into a small smile. Harry laughs and turns back to his pancake. He just can’t say no to Liam.   
  
“Alright, alright,” Harry says, deciding then that he should just come out with it, that talking about it might help him stop the incessant thinking, help him forget. “It’s about Louis.”   
  
Liam’s eyebrow shoots up at the name and he leans in, curiosity flaring from his skin. “What about Louis?”   
  
“See, that’s what’s been bothering me,” Harry admits, dropping his fork and looking at Liam right in the eyes. He thinks about his next words for a few seconds, wanting to put it as simply as he can, but the words fail to come and he resigns with his back to the chair, folding his arms across his chest and sighing. “I just don’t know. I know I’m not  _gay_ but—I don’t know, something about Louis …  _attracts_  me. Do you know what I mean?”   
  
Liam’s silent, eyes focused, unmoving, and after a few moments, he slumps back in his chair and gives a soft laugh.   
  
“Sounds like you’ve got a big dilemma going on,” Liam says, his mouth stretching into a grin, and Harry creases his brows in confusion, nodding at his stating of the obvious.   
  
“Yeah, I do. So have you got any advice?”   
  
“You know what, mate,” Liam says, sitting up and stretching his arms into the air. “I’ve never cared much for labels and I don’t think you should, either. You like who you like, it’s as simple as that. If you like the person—well, go for it. No questions asked. No regrets.”   
  
Harry listens attentively, propping himself on his elbow on the table. “You don’t think it’s too soon? I mean, I’ve only met the bloke two days ago and he just got out of a bad relationship and—” Harry takes a moment to realize what he’s just said and his eyes open wide, biting his tongue too late and watching Liam’s eyes narrow.   
  
“A bad relationship?” Liam asks as though he had heard wrong, and Harry’s face starts to burn with guilt. He should have kept his mouth shut. “With Zayn? I don’t understand. What happened?”   
  
“It—it’s not really my place to say,” Harry says, trying to sidestep past the issue and for a moment, he thinks there’s a sliver of hope that Liam might just leave it at that and move on. But after saying something  _that_  big, he’s going to need more than a sliver to push the issue behind the rug and change the subject. He sinks back in his chair as Liam burns holes in his eyes.   
  
“Well, you’ve brought it up,” Liam says, voice firm but not angry, and Harry wishes more than anything that he can dissolve into the floor under his chair and hide there until Liam forgets about it. What is he supposed to say?   
  
“I know,” Harry says, defeated, and he sits up straight and keeps his eyes on the table. “I didn’t mean to bring it up and I think that it’s best if you hear it from them but—”   
  
At that moment, he feels his mobile vibrating in his pocket, and he quickly fishes it out and presses the green button, thankful for the temporary distraction.   
  
“Hello?”   
  
_“Harry Styles? It’s Jenny from Wonderland Bakery.”_   
  
Harry holds up a finger and gets up from his seat, Liam watching him with disbelief. Harry excuses himself to the living room and he almost wants to thank her for calling at that very moment. Instead, he sits down on the sofa and says, “Oh, hi, Jenny. How are you?”   
  
_“Been better but there’s no use in complaining. And yourself?”_   
  
“Fine, thanks.”   
  
_“Good. So, about your employment. Are you free today?”_   
  
Harry’s taken aback by the suddenness and it takes him a few seconds to answer. “Well, I’ve got a performance tonight at eight but—”   
  
_“Excellent. So you’re free until then, am I correct?”_   
  
Harry can feel Jenny’s bluntness hitting his ears like hammers. “I—I suppose.”   
  
_“Great. Just come in as soon as you can and we can start on your training.”_   
  
“Training?” Harry didn’t really know how jobs worked but he thought there would at least be a few days’ notice before training starts. She didn’t even tell him that he’s got the job. Then again, Jenny doesn’t seem like the type of person to dilly-dally, and he supposes that the sooner he can start working, the better.   
  
_“Yes, boy, you’ve got the job. I’ll just talk to you later when you come in.”_   
  
Harry opens his mouth to say something but the line disconnects before the words leave his throat, and he stares at the mobile for a few moments before hopping up to his feet and making his way back to the kitchen.   
  
“Well?” Liam asks, food untouched since Harry left to take the call, and Harry slides the mobile in his pocket.   
  
“I’ve got the job.”   
  
“Congratulations,” Liam says with a smile, and he leans over, waiting for Harry to say something. “And you were saying?”   
  
“You know, she wants to me to go to the bakery as soon as I can,” Harry says, eyes pleading his apology, and when he turns around, he hears Liam call his name. He sighs and turns a quarter of the way, attention fixed on the sink.   
  
“Come on, Harry, you can’t just leave me hanging.”   
  
Harry lifts his head solemnly and looks at Liam, bracing himself and carefully picking out the words he wants to say. After a while, the silence starts to grate his ears, and he clears his throat and turns away once more. Liam watches on.   
  
“Zayn’s been physically abusing Louis for a while. That’s why he left.”   
  
Silence descends in the kitchen again and Harry can hear his breathing, emptiness filling his stomach. He still knows it wasn’t the right thing to do and he feels terrible for meddling, and he knows it’s not Liam’s fault, too, because he was just curious. It’s  _his_  fault for running his mouth where it shouldn’t be. But what’s done is done and he doesn’t see the look on Liam’s face or hear what he has to say because he’s dragging his feet back to his room to pick up his jumper, and he gives Liam a curt nod before slinging it over his shoulder and leaving the flat.   
  
::   
  
Louis is busying himself with a sandwich when Niall taps him on the shoulder.   
  
“What are you doing?” Niall asks as he wipes down the counter. Louis shrugs and turns back to his sandwich, not really up to stating the obvious.   
  
“What does it look like?”   
  
“Looks like you’re making a sandwich for a ghost.”   
  
“And by that you mean?”   
  
Niall laughs and folds the towel. “I mean it’s ten o’clock in the morning and we have no customers. Even then, you just ate a few minutes ago and I didn’t ask for one so clearly, you’re making it for someone who’s not here.”   
  
Louis stops what he’s doing and surveys the café. Niall’s right—the place is empty. Usually, they’d have at least five patrons at this hour sipping coffee or reading the morning paper, and it feels odd that they’re the only people in. The silence is deafening.   
  
“Would you look at that,” Louis whispers and Niall’s next to him in a second, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and leaning in close to make sure Louis can hear him.   
  
“Why are you thinking so much today?”   
  
Louis looks at him with furrowed brows and he turns back to the sandwich, hoping the confusion sticks to Niall. “Thinking’s not that out of the ordinary, Ni. You should try it sometime, it’ll do you some good.”   
  
“You’re so distracted though. And that whole thing with the humming earlier. You want to tell me what’s going on, Lou?”   
  
Louis laughs and untangles himself from Niall to start up a batch of fresh coffee. Niall leans a hand on the back table and grips his hip with the other, and Louis can feel his eyes willing for him to look. “You’re the one with the master observational skills,  _you_  should know.”   
  
“Well, I’ve been a bit rusty lately so I’d like for you to fill me in.”   
  
A smile creeps on Louis’s lips and he locks eyes with Niall, whose eyes are bordering on interrogating.   
  
“Alright, if you must know—”   
  
“It’s about Harry, isn’t it?” Niall cuts in, eyes narrowing further as his smile grows wider, and Louis scoffs with a smile of his own, thoroughly entertained by the fact Niall knows him so well, their minds could be connected by an invisible cable transferring each and every thought until nothing’s hidden and everything’s laid out on the table. Niall never ceases to amaze him.   
  
“Why on earth would you ask me if you already knew the answer, you twat,” Louis says, punching Niall on the shoulder.   
  
“Well, it’s pretty obvious if you looked hard enough,” Niall says as if it’s the most apparent thing in the world, punching Louis back and running backwards to stay out of his reach. “You’ve been a bit loopy and distant ever since he came into the picture. Not that I blame you or anything ‘cause he’s a pretty good lad and I quite like him.”   
  
“It’s not even like that, Ni,” Louis tells him, taking out the pot and pouring himself some coffee. He hovers a hand over the mug to feel the steam condensing on his skin, and he thinks of the way Harry’s hands felt on his waist. “I just feel bad about the whole situation.”   
  
“I do too, but I think we both know that’s not what you’re thinking about.”   
  
Louis makes his way to the other side of the counter and takes a seat with the mug clasped in his hands. Niall sits beside him and slides the coffee from his fingers to take a quick sip. Louis elbows him and takes the mug back, feeling the warmth spreading around his hands.   
  
“I don’t even think he’s interested, to be honest. I feel like an idiot. You can practically scrape off the desperation from my skin at the rate I’m going.”   
  
“See, that’s the thing with people,” Niall says, folding his hands on the countertop and focusing his eyes on the board. “You never know until you try. And I like the color of desperation on you. It makes your skin sparkle.”   
  
Louis laughs and turns to Niall as he takes a sip. “But you don’t think it’s too soon?”   
  
Niall shrugs. “I think it’s about time. The sooner you get over this whole Zayn thing, the better everyone will feel. Especially you.”   
  
He looks at Niall and thinks about how long they went without having talks like these. Ever since Zayn came into the picture, their meetings were reduced to time spent at work and weekend lunches, but even then, they weren’t that many to begin with, and it’s a wonder how much they managed to stay the same and still know each other from inside out despite not seeing each other as much as they did before. And it makes him realize just how much he loves Niall.   
  
“You think so?”   
  
Niall nods and pulls him in for a hug, and Louis’s hands search for his back as he buries his face in his shoulder. Niall is warm and smells faintly of cologne—the one Louis got him for his birthday and he hasn’t stopped wearing it since—and Louis starts to laugh when he feels his eyes beginning to sting, and he presses his face further into his skin, wishing he can curl up inside him and just sleep there forever.   
  
“I know so.”   
  
::   
  
Harry pushes his way inside One Way and the first thing he sees is Louis wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and making his way to the other side of the counter. Niall turns around when he hears the tinkling of the bell and a wide grin erupts in his face when he sees Harry, eyes glittering even in the distance. Harry nods hello and makes his way to them, eyes immediately searching for Louis to ask what’s wrong.   
  
“Allergies,” Louis says with a smile, dabbing his nose with a napkin and sniffling. Harry smiles back and takes this moment to look at the bruise on his face—it’s been two days and the deep purple is softening, but still not completely gone. It’s smaller now, at least, and he expects it doesn’t sting as much. He brings a hand to touch his own bruise and Louis watches as he takes a sip from his mug.   
  
“It’s looking much better already,” Louis says, setting the mug on the counter and wiping his lips with another napkin. Harry laughs, his face starting to flush.   
  
“I can say the same for you,” Harry replies, and they look at each other for a moment before Niall decides to break the silence.   
  
“Can we get anything for you, Harry?”   
  
“A sandwich would be nice,” Harry says, turning to Niall, who’s already ambling over to join Louis in the back. “And a hot chocolate to go.”   
  
The frown flashes on Louis’s face for a split second but Harry feels the disappointment. Louis clears his throat and turns around. “You’re not staying?”   
  
“I can’t. I wanted to come in to tell you I’ve got the job before going there to start my training.”   
  
“Oh, that’s great, congratulations!” Louis says, spinning to face Harry again with the sandwich he was working on earlier wrapped and ready to go. He hands it to Harry at the same time Niall finishes the hot chocolate, and Harry takes them both with a smile. “But training already?”   
  
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I thought,” Harry says with a chuckle, taking his wallet out from his back pocket and pulling out a few bills. “But I guess the sooner I start working, the better.” He hands the money to Louis but he shakes his head and pushes his hand back.   
  
“Mike says your next purchase is on the house so don’t worry.”   
  
Harry grins and stuffs his wallet back in his pocket. “Well, tell Mike I said thanks, then.”   
  
“Will do.”   
  
Harry nods and waves goodbye, but before he walks out of the door, he turns around and tells Louis, “I’ll be over to have lunch later if it’s still your shift.”   
  
Louis grins. “I’ll be here all day.”   
  
Harry nods and with a flip of his hair, he walks out into the pavement and starts his way to Wonderland, face flushing and heart swelling with glee as he takes a large bite of his sandwich.


	8. Seven

When Harry comes upon the bakery, the first thing he sees through the glass windows is Caroline dancing.   
  
It isn’t the kind of dancing that’s choreographed or has any sort of beat or rhythm to it, and to be honest, Harry’s never seen anything quite like it outside of his television set, but what it lacks in cadence, it more than makes up for in captivation. Balancing a small metal tray filled with tiny pastries in one hand, she glides across the bakery in long, graceful strides, her hair whipping about behind her as she spins and leaps. Her free arm is poised like a swan’s neck in the space beside her, never breaking the position until it’s time to replace the pastries in the ceramic tiers.   
  
Harry inches closer, almost pressing his nose into the window, and focuses on the look of concentration on her face. Despite the gracefulness of her dance, her eyebrows are drawn together, creasing her forehead, and her mouth is a thin red line, taut and unmoving. From the distance, he can just see the tiny beads of sweat collecting along her brow, and he can’t turn away from the pink slowly tinting her cheeks.   
  
After what seems like forever, Caroline finally notices him with a start, and through the walls, Harry hears her squeal, almost dropping the tray when she misses her step and recovering just in time for her free hand to catch the edge of the metal. Harry nearly bumps into the window in surprise before collecting himself and pushing through the door in a hurry, the tinkling of the bell chiming in his ears.   
  
“Are you alright?” Harry says quickly, walking briskly over to her as she places the tray on the table beside her with a hand on her chest.   
  
“I’m—I’m fine,” she replies, straightening out her short floral skirt before brushing the ends of her hair with hooked fingers.   
  
“Are you sure?” Harry asks, guilt washing over him thickly, and she nods and gives a quick smile, her face flushing redder than when she was dancing. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to scare you.”   
  
“No, no, it’s alright. It’s my fault for prancing around with the stupid tray in the first place.”   
  
Harry laughs. “I didn’t know you danced. Were you practicing just now?”   
  
Caroline grins and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Well, I’d be surprised if you did—we  _had_  only met yesterday. But to answer your question: yes, I am taking dance lessons when I’m not working.”   
  
“That’s cool,” Harry says, stuffing his hands in his pockets after failing to find something to keep them occupied. “That was great, what you were doing. Those fancy spins and everything.”   
  
“They’re not really fancy,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest and shifting her eyes on the floor. “I haven’t been taking the lessons long so my moves are amateur at best.”   
  
“Could have fooled me,” Harry insists with a shrug, and Caroline brings her eyes back to him, light blue glittering in the sunlight. It’s all very true—he doesn’t know much about dancing, but what he does know is that she’s enthralling to watch. Her limbs, long and wispy and tanned golden, move around her like ribbons in the wind, and her feet look like they’re walking on air. “How did you do them again? Like this?”   
  
Harry lifts his foot and tries to spin on one leg, but after a single turn, he loses his balance for a moment and catches himself just in time before colliding with the pastry tiers a few centimeters behind him. Caroline gives a squeal and lunges forward, hands outstretched, ready to catch Harry, but in another second, she drops them next to her and watches instead as he raises himself up back to his full height with an embarrassed grin on his face.   
  
“That went a lot smoother in my mind,” Harry admits with a chuckle, bringing a hand up to scratch his head, and Caroline utters a soft giggle behind her hand. “At least I didn’t crash into the pastries.”   
  
Caroline laughs. “You spun the wrong way, that’s why. Here—”   
  
She takes a step back and Harry’s eyes drop down to her feet, and in one quick motion, she lifts herself up on one foot and spins three times, her skirt fanning out, and Harry takes it upon himself to be decent enough not to shift his eyes farther up her legs. He smiles when she lands back on two feet, and she gives a tiny curtsy before dissolving into a fit of laughter. Harry laughs with her.   
  
“Maybe I can teach you some dance moves in your training,” she says, wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand and making her way behind the register.   
  
“Sounds like a plan,” Harry says, following Caroline and stopping in front of the display case, and at that moment, a voice echoes from the back of the bakery.   
  
_“Stop wasting time and get him started on the training.”_   
  
The two jump at the suddenness of Jenny’s voice and the next second, they’re grinning at each other, Caroline patting the register and motioning with her head for Harry to come and stand behind her.   
  
::   
  
Louis didn’t know just how much he’s flicked his eyes to the wall clock in the past hour until Niall popped up behind him and gave him a light squeeze on his shoulders.   
  
He nearly jumps out of his skin and takes a step backward to balance himself, but in doing so, he knocks Niall into the back table, sending cups and unopened coffee bags tumbling onto the floor.   
  
“ _What_  is the matter with you?” Niall asks, composing himself quickly and surveying the area to see if the disturbance caused a stir. It didn’t. The four patrons are too engrossed in their respective activities to notice what had happened: a man in the far back reading the morning paper and sipping from his coffee; a few tables off, a woman fervently typing on her laptop, the loud  _tack tack tack_ s echoing in their ears; and a couple busy feeding each other breakfast at the table closest to the doors.   
  
Louis bends down to pick up the fallen items and replaces the bags on the table, Niall following suit a moment later and throwing the cups into the trash.   
  
“One moment, you’re distracted,” Niall continues as he stands up. “And the next, you’re violent. Jesus, what’s with you today?”   
  
Louis gets to his feet and dusts off his knees, turning to face Niall with a sigh. “I’m not  _violent_ , Niall, you just scared the living  _shit_  out of me.”   
  
“Well, you wouldn’t have been so scared if you’d been paying attention to me in the first place,” Niall replies, taking out a new stack of cups from the cabinet above the coffee maker. “I’ve called your name about fifty times while your head’s off swimming somewhere else. If you didn’t want to talk, just tell me.”   
  
“I don’t  _not_  want to talk,” Louis says with a scoff, spinning back to face the counter and watching people pass by the glass windows. “I was just looking at the time.”   
  
“Yeah, for the twentieth time,” Niall says, the tone of his mimicking the rolling of eyes. “All you need to know is that there’s sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes—”   
  
“I  _know_  all that, thank you very much. And I don’t appreciate your tone, Horan.”   
  
“Well, I don’t appreciate you shoving me into the table, Tomlinson,” Niall retorts, a smile creeping on his lips. “Luckily I caught myself or Mike would have thrown a fit and kicked us out for the day.”   
  
Louis laughs. “Well, he  _loves_  me, remember? So I don’t really need to worry.  _You_ , on the other hand—”   
  
“—will grab you by your pretty little head and drag you out there with me,” Niall finishes, flicking away a lock of Louis’s fringe and jumping backward to avoid Louis’s attempt at a punch to his arm. He always did hate Niall’s dexterity, the way his feet seem to carry him without waiting for the signals sent from his brain, almost cat-like in nature, and he thinks it might be the “Irish blood” in him giving him supernatural powers but it’s probably nothing more than knowing exactly what and when Louis will do something, because with Niall, he’s exactly the same.   
  
“Alright, alright, I’m sorry for pushing you into the table,” Louis resigns, placing his palms flat on the countertop and watching Niall slide into the seat opposite him, a wide smile beginning to stretch his face. “What can I do to make it up to you?”   
  
“You can get me more names,” Niall answers simply, digging out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handing it to Louis. Louis slips it off his fingers and opens it fold by fold, mapping out the five names Niall’s managed to get the past few days for the performance later in the evening. He stops on the fourth line, where  _Harry Styles_  is scribbled untidily in blue ink, and there’s a sudden pang in his chest that he’s sure Niall saw flash in his eyes, because there he is, snapping his fingers in front of Louis’s face trying to bring him back to reality.   
  
“You’ve got five names already, do you  _really_  need more?” Louis asks, not really feeling up to going over to strangers and asking them if they wanted to perform, as well as the possibility of missing Harry when he comes in for lunch. “And it’d be on such short notice if I ask them now, don’t you think? They’d need time to prepare and—”   
  
“Stop making excuses, Lou, and get on with it,” Niall says, waving a hand to shoo Louis away. “The more names I can get, the better. I want to make up for last week and I don’t know, it might make Mike more inclined to give me a raise.”   
  
“Niall, your dad’s a big-shot record producer, you don’t  _need_  a raise,” Louis says, folding the paper and sliding it in his back pocket. “ _I_  need a raise. I don’t want to impose on you for too long and I’ll need to save up when I look for a new place.”   
  
Niall sighs and points a finger in front of Louis’s face, the tip only a few inches from his nose. “If you say the word ‘imposing’ referring to me one more time, Tommo, I’ll chuck you in the guest room downstairs and have you sleep in the air mattress. Now are you going to get me more names or not?”   
  
Louis laughs and shakes his head, the urge to attempt another punch as strong as the urge to jump from the counter and give him a hug. “Well, I don’t think I’ve much of a choice, have I?”   
  
Niall shakes his head. “No, sir, you don’t. Now, go on. I expect you’ll be back by lunchtime.”   
  
Louis smiles and makes his way to the door, trying to get Niall on the shoulder one more time. Failing once again—and Niall is so like Jess when it comes to leaping and moving out of the way—he pulls on the hem of his shirt, ruffles his hair with a few quick strokes, and turns to Niall one last time. “I’ll make sure to be back by then.”   
  
::   
  
The register rings for the fifth time under Harry’s hands and he’s grinning ear to ear, excitement bubbling out of his chest, as he hands the bag of pastries to the little girl clutching her mother’s hand, looking up at him with big, doll-like eyes. She reaches up and grabs the bag timidly with her free hand, and before they turn to leave, she gives Harry a toothless smile and a small wave as her mother leads her across the bakery.   
  
“The cutest things, aren’t they?” Caroline says dreamily, leaning on the display case with her chin in her hands, and Harry looks at her with a smile.   
  
“This is actually really fun,” Harry admits, turning back to the windows and watching the little girl disappear around the corner. “Did you see her face?”   
  
“I did,” Caroline replies, standing up and stretching her arms in the air. “The best thing about the register is getting to see excited little children eyeing the treats and pulling on their parents’ sleeves when they see something they want. Especially if it’s something you made.”   
  
“Did you make any of them?”   
  
“A few  _petit fours_  and some cupcakes,” she says, replacing her elbows on the glass, and Harry shoots her a look at the foreign term. She points to the top ceramic tier on the table closest to them. “The little cakes that look like presents? I made those just before you came in.”   
  
“Oh, those things,” Harry remarked, recognizing the tiny box pastries. “They look really good.”   
  
“Jenny wouldn’t have them any other way,” Caroline says with a chuckle. “She’s very particular about her pastries. Once, I made the batter for cream puff swans too loose, and she told me I have three chances to do it perfectly or I’d get the boot. Got it on my second try and I’d never messed up another recipe of hers since.”   
  
“She’s really strict, isn’t she?”   
  
Caroline shrugs and turns her attention to Jenny’s door. “Yeah, but she means well. She wants everything done a specific way and that’s why her bakery’s lasted this long. She’s really passionate about what she does and she wants her employees to learn how she learned.”   
  
“I suppose you’re right,” Harry says, tapping his fingertips on the glass. Caroline makes a sound and Harry snaps his attention to her, but no words come out. Instead, she holds up a finger and walks out from behind the display case, heading for one of the tiers, and she picks up a pink petit four wrapped with a blue icing ribbon. She drops it in Harry’s hand and fixes her eyes on him, waiting for him to make a move. Harry hesitates for a moment, her attention unnerving him slightly, but in the next second, he’s taking a bite, teeth clamping down on the softest, most pillowy cake he’s ever had.   
  
His expression probably said it all, because once he eats the last of the pastry, Caroline’s face breaks into a wide grin, and Harry tries his best not to smile back with his mouth full.   
  
“That tastes really good,” Harry says after swallowing the rest, and Caroline dips her head in gratitude, face flushing with pink once again. “You’ve got talent.”   
  
“Thanks,” she says, running a hand through her hair. “If we have time, I can teach you how to make some of these things.”   
  
Harry opens his mouth to accept, but his brain catches on the word  _time_  and his eyes immediately search for the clock on the wall above the door. Ten past noon. Lunchtime.   
  
Louis.   
  
“Hey, would you mind if I nip over at One Way for a bit?” Harry asks, anxiety filling his bones in a second. “Just going to grab a bite to eat.”   
  
“Oh, the café?” Caroline says, her brows beginning to knit together. “You know there’s a restaurant a just few ways down from here? Bistro Eleanor? Their lunch menu’s  _phenomenal_  and the price isn’t too bad.”   
  
Harry doesn’t take a moment to consider this alternative or argue why One Way’s the better choice, taking out his mobile instead and checking his reflection to see if his hair’s become a frizzy mess—well, more than it already  _is_ —and he flicks his eyes to Caroline, who’s still looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.   
  
“I’ve actually told my mate I’ll be over for lunch,” Harry says, eyes drawing an apology and hoping Caroline won’t come up with anything else to say to change his mind. He’s wasted enough time as it is.   
  
“Well, would you mind if I came along?” Caroline asks simply, and Harry only looks at her at first, mind flashing to Louis at once, and she looks back, eyes echoing the same request. It takes him a minute to process what course of action to take, and after realizing he can’t bring himself to decline, he sighs softly and shrugs, stuffing his mobile back in his pocket.   
  
“If you want to walk all the way over there—” Harry begins, but he’s cut off by Caroline grabbing him by the arm and taking him across the bakery, an arm already stretched out in front of her to push the door open.   
  
“Come on, then, I’m starving,” she says excitedly, and the moment they come upon the door, she turns to look over her shoulder and adds, a little louder so Jenny could hear in her office, “Jen, we’ll be right back to grab something to eat, alright?”   
  
_“If you’re not back in thirty minutes, you’re both fired,”_  Jenny calls out from the other side of the office, and Caroline laughs as she drags Harry out into the street, whose eyes are wide in surprise and brain still trying to figure out what’s happening, taking long, ardent strides with her mile-long legs as she makes for One Way.   
  
::   
  
Louis makes it back to One Way with nothing to show for it, and when he drops the paper in front of an expectant Niall with a shake of his head, he sits down in a chair and practically dissolves into the seat in a tired heap, the hunt for more names battering his legs into fatigue.   
  
He walked around the area, running over to the bookstore to pester the patrons with his neon blue pen and scouting the record store for potential performers because it seemed to him like the most logical place to look for a few—or at least  _one_ —but the bookstore offered no names other than those plastered on the hardcovers of this week’s new releases and the record store turned out to be as dry and barren as a desert—all there seemed to be were groups of teenaged girls fawning over the newest album of an up-and-coming boy band, nearly kissing the boys gracing the cover in complete and utter adoration, and rockers with their hair spiked to the extreme, studs pressed into every bit of visible skin, and nonchalant, almost stoic attitudes that almost made Louis turn around and walk the other way. He almost tries the shopping mall in the hopes of getting  _something_  at the least, but when he looks at his watch as he steps out the record store, he discovers it’s almost noon, and he folds the piece of paper haphazardly and sprints all the way back to the café with a few minutes to spare before the clock hands turned 12:00.   
  
“Nothing?” Niall asks after opening the paper and seeing the names written down, unchanged.   
  
Louis shrugs, shakes his head, and sits himself up properly, taking this time to catch his breath. “I tried. There’s  _nobody_ out at this time of day. Has Harry shown up?”   
  
“No, not yet,” Niall answers, scrunching up his face before folding the paper one last time and slipping it in his pocket. “I expect he’ll be here soon, though.”   
  
“Good,” Louis whispers, wiping the cold sweat from his brows and straightening his shirt.   
  
It’s not until ten minutes later that the door opens, and when the tinkling meets his ears, Louis turns his head and sees Harry emerging through the doors. For some reason—though it  _does_  happen quite frequently now that he should already know why it happens—his heart starts to race and his face, just starting to recover from the redness brought on by his search, turns a deeper shade, and he’s not sure if his body can keep up with the demand for blood.   
  
Just as Louis is standing up and about to say something to Harry, someone totters behind him—all limbs, long and golden and thin as twigs—and it doesn’t take him long to realize it’s the girl from the bakeshop.   
  
_Caroline_ .   
  
“—couldn’t wait for me, could you?” he hears Caroline continue with a laugh in that shrill voice of hers, and the next second, she’s beside Harry, looping her arm around his as she looks around the café. Louis feels his stomach drop and his hands are cold, and he doesn’t hear what Harry says when they make their way to him.   
  
“You alright mate?” Harry inquires, disentangling himself from Caroline and walking up to Louis. “I said, ‘hello’.”   
  
“What?” Louis asks, taking himself out of his stupor, and Harry watches him with curiosity. “ _Oh_ . Hello. Sorry, I’m a bit distracted.”   
  
Behind Harry, Louis can see Caroline walking around with her head upturned, looking at the pictures on the walls with her arms folded over her chest, and when her eyes land on Niall, who’s busy eating something with his back facing the counter, she smiles and makes her way to him.   
  
“Well, anyway,” Harry says, slipping his hands in his pockets for the hundredth time, “did you want to have lunch?”   
  
Louis manages a grin despite the disappointment filling his veins, and he nods and leads Harry to the table closest to them, sitting opposite each other, Harry’s eyes trying to decipher what expression Louis has on his face, neither saying anything for a while.   
  
::   
  
It was a very awkward lunch.   
  
Not so much as in Harry had nothing to say, didn’t know how to begin a conversation because he did. He tried his best to come up with subjects that all of them could talk about—favorite bands, life in the city—trivial stuff that makes for good discussion over a hot cup of chocolate and a warm croissant steaming under his chin. Caroline had no problem filling in her side; she was practically on the tips of her toes, going on excitedly about college and how her ex-boyfriend dumped her after she dyed her hair jet black. Very soon, it became just her talking, asking Harry questions when he ran out, her chair moving closer and closer to him with every laugh, and he indulged her for a bit before it became burdensome, became something that’s not fun anymore because he’s not laughing and he can see the look on Louis’s face.   
  
Louis gave one-word answers and dismissed a few questions entirely with a shrug, and Harry knew he wasn’t having fun. If he could equate his expression to something, it’d be like when he was younger visiting his grandmother, and how he would be forced to watch knitting programs or the news or something completely out of his interests and he couldn’t say no and walk away because he didn’t want to offend her, so he bites his tongue and watches until he fell asleep.   
  
Harry could tell Louis was just indulging him, taking small bites of his sandwich and taking long sips of coffee from the mug that never seems to empty, eyes never noticing that Caroline was there sitting next to him, and he couldn’t blame him. Caroline wasn’t part of the equation. Louis was not expecting her to come at all.   
  
“So, I, er, I guess I’ll just see you tonight?” Harry says after telling Caroline to go on ahead and he’ll catch up later.   
  
“Yeah, I’ll see you then,” Louis says with a nod and leaves it at that. He turns around, makes his way to Niall, who gives Harry a small wave before moving backward to let Louis through. Harry smiles, nods in Louis’s direction, and pushes out of the door, where Caroline’s waiting for him just past the café.   
  
“Ready?” she asks, and Harry only nods, his plan to spend more time with Louis blowing up in his face and he’s not sure what Louis was thinking the entire time. He catches up with her and keeps his hands in his pockets, the space between them enough to accommodate a person, and they start walking down the street with a heaviness pressing down on Harry’s chest.   
  
“So… what’s the deal with Louis anyway?” Caroline asks, turning to Harry a quarter of the way, and a thousand reasons pop in his head, ready to be pushed out of his throat like a machine gun and shower her with explanations of how Louis isn’t usually like that, how he’s usually more lively, grinning from ear to ear and firing off sarcastic remarks to Niall left and right and—   
  
But he only shrugs and keeps his eyes on the sidewalk, taking slow, languid steps to get his mind settled and ready to think of something else.   
  
He doesn’t even know where to begin.   
  
::   
  
“You know, if you act any more excited, I’ll begin to think you’ve been taking something illicit,” Niall says after handing a customer a cup of coffee.   
  
“Shut  _up_ , Niall,” Louis retorts irritably, leaning on the back table and tapping his foot on the floor, arms coming up to cross over his chest, not really appreciating Niall’s sarcasm after what just happened.   
  
He knew she had her eyes set on Harry the moment they met, her harpy-like claws with peeling pink polish zeroing in for the kill, flashing her sunburnt legs and fake tanned smiles and singing her shrill banshee song with a flip of her twice-bleached hair burned to a crisp at the ends.   
  
He’s decided did not like Caroline.   
  
“Alright, then,  _crabby_ ,” Niall says, taking off his apron and hanging it on the wall behind him. “I’m off to take my break. Watch the place while I’m gone.”   
  
“What? Where do you think you’re  _going_ ?” Louis asks sharply, and Niall grabs his jumper from a drawer.   
  
“Somewhere with a pleasant atmosphere,” Niall says, slipping the jumper on and making for the door. “Maybe I’ll try the bookstore so I won’t have to listen to you  _whine_  for the next half hour.”   
  
“I don’t  _whine_ .”   
  
But Niall doesn’t hear it because he’s out the door and walking across the street in a moment, and Louis tries his best not to run after him and throw a sandwich at the back of his head. Instead, he sighs and walks over to place his hands on the counter, beginning to count off the hours until he can see Harry again.   
  
::   
  
“—and  _that’s_  how you take an order,” Caroline says, clicking the pen and tucking it behind her ear. She waves the order sheet in front of Harry’s face and Harry takes it, reading the scribbles of pastries and their prices. “Got it?”   
  
“I think so,” Harry says, taking a clipboard from the wall and slipping the paper in the clamp. “Where do I find the prices again?”   
  
“At the wall behind you or right underneath the cash register,” Caroline reiterates, taking the laminated slip of paper from under the machine and pushing it back inside. Harry nods and hangs the clipboard back on the hook.   
  
“You’re performing tonight, right?” she asks, leaning on the case cheek in hand, and Harry snaps his head to her, surprised. He tries to remember when he told her about it, but his memory comes up empty.   
  
“Yeah, how’d you know?” Harry asks, brows coming together.   
  
“I, er, I was sort of eavesdropping on your interview yesterday,” she admits with a smile. Harry doesn’t know whether to smile back or not. “But I’d  _love_  to hear you sing.”   
  
Harry can think of ten perfectly good reasons why he thinks she shouldn’t come at all, and he’s half-tempted to fire them off one by one until he runs out of breath but he can’t bring himself to. She’s been nothing but nice to him and brushing her off and looking the other way seems like a pretty dodgy way of returning the favor. He sighs and gives her a small smile.   
  
“If you want to come, the performances start at eight,” he says, and she jumps up and claps her hands together.   
  
“Great!” she exclaims, turning around just in time to see a customer making her way to a table and inspecting the items on the tiers. She flashes on her strawberry smile and looks at Harry from the corners of her eyes. “I’ll make sure to come after work.”   
  
::   
  
Setting up is probably the hardest thing about the performances.   
  
At the moment, the stage in the back of the café is bare except for the microphone stand and a chair pushed off into the corner, and since it was Niall’s job to get the names, it was up to Louis to do the rest.   
  
It’s not that he doesn’t like doing it—he does, loves to put his flair on the stage, pin things up on the curtains, and, when he’s feeling ambitious, make banners with the performers’ names ready to be hanged and torn off with each number and given as souvenirs, especially for first-timers—and really, the distraction is probably the best thing to have at that moment, set his mind on something else so his brain could breathe, but for some reason, his hands come up blank. His imagination has taken the day off and he’s left looking at the stage with his fingers curled around his waist, trying to map out something to start off with. He even looks at pictures of past performances and writes down a certain aspect from each one, trying to come up with a cohesive concept and making Mike happy.   
  
Crumpling his sixth piece of paper, he groans and buries his face in the notepad.   
  
“How’s it going, Lou?” Niall asks, and Louis lifts his head up and gives it a shake.   
  
“I can’t think of anything, Ni. My brain’s running on empty.”   
  
“Are you hungry? I can whip up something real quick.”   
  
“No, it’s not that. I’m just not getting it today, I don’t know why.”   
  
“See, this is why you plan  _before_  the event, not  _during_ ,” Niall says, and Louis shoots him a nasty look before turning back and twirling the pen in his fingers.   
  
“I’d appreciate it if you could tell me something  _useful_ , Niall,” Louis says, rolling his eyes, as he draws the basic outline of the stage. “It’s  _your_  performance day, isn’t it?”   
  
“Yeah, but  _you’re_  in charge of setting up, or have you forgotten?”   
  
“No, I haven’t  _forgotten_ .”   
  
“Well, at least you’ve got a bit of time before the show starts, so I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”   
  
Louis lets himself breathe and places the notepad on the counter, sweeping over to Niall and burying his face in his shoulder.   
  
“Can I just call it a day and sleep?” Louis asks, voice muffled, and Niall laughs.   
  
“Sure. When you’re done setting up and the performances are over, you can sleep as much as you like.”   
  
Louis laughs and gives Niall a light shove. Just then, the bell rings and Louis turns his head just in time to see someone walking through, and he feels his breath hitch in his throat, eyes landing on brown hair and an a small birthmark splashed on his neck.   
  
It doesn’t take him too long to realize who it is, and by impulse, he turns to Niall, who’s standing stock-still, face pink from laughing a few moments ago now draining of color, blue eyes wide, fixed on Liam Payne, and Louis can feel tension falling over him like a thick liquid he wishes he can scrub off. Niall makes a sound and Louis turns back to Liam, who’s walking across the café with a notebook in one hand and a guitar in the other, a smile stretching his lips when his eyes locate Louis and Niall behind the counter.   
  
Louis doesn’t know what to do.   
  
“Good afternoon, mate,” Liam says excitedly as he sets the notebook on the counter and leans the guitar on the seat next to him, brown eyes moving from Niall to Louis then back again, and Louis clears his throat, scratches an itch on his forearm, and attempts to smile back. It comes off as awkward, like his teeth are too big for his lips, like he’s been injected with botox and he can’t really move the muscles on his face, and Liam’s smile begins to falter, eyebrows stitching together and eager eyes filling with confusion.   
  
“Hello, Liam, long time no see,” Louis manages to get out when it seemed like the silence was stretching on for too long, too uncomfortable, and he taps on Niall’s foot underneath the counter. “What brings you here?”   
  
“I’ve, er… I’ve just come to bring Harry’s notepad and his guitar,” Liam says, his voice tight, deeper than Louis remembers, eyes shifting to Niall in an attempt to get him to look. But Niall’s unresponsive, doesn’t even kick Louis back after tapping him a second time, and he lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders tensing and his eyes narrowing.   
  
“Niall?” Liam says, leaning closer, and the sound gives Niall a start. “Niall, you alright?”   
  
Niall takes a breath, gets himself ready to say something, but he traps it in his chest like closing a gate shut and he shakes his head, taking off his apron and throwing it in the back table.   
  
“I’m—I’m sorry. Excuse me,” he says, voice harried, just a step above a whisper, and he inches past Louis and ignores Liam calling his name, his hand when he reaches out to try to stop him, the look on his face when he turns back to Louis with eyes drowning in surprise and worry and confusion and guilt.   
  
“What did I do?”


	9. Eight

Louis wishes he can say something and then crawl back in his little hole and pretend nothing had ever happened.   
  
He wracks his brain for excuses—“sorry, I have to finish working on the stage” or “I’m really glad to see you but I just have got to go, I’m sorry”—but the way Liam’s eyebrows are drawn in complete and utter confusion and shock and his brown eyes are firing off questions in such quick succession that Louis can feel holes boring themselves in his chest traps the words in his throat and he can only manage a sigh, discomfort falling thick and heavy over him that he can barely look in Liam’s eyes.   
  
“I—What—Liam—” Louis tries to push through his lips when Liam begins to turn his body toward the exit, his knees starting to shake because he’s never been good at this stuff, never been good in uncomfortable situations where there’s a need for explanations because it’s usually Zayn or Niall who handle everything when he finds his tongue tied to the roof of his mouth. At times like these, it always seemed like the entire English vocabulary is wiped off from his brain, and all he can do is stand there like a bloody idiot and hope the look in his eyes can offer what his mind is trying desperately to convey.   
  
But Liam completely misses the point and he only narrows his eyes, more confused than ever, and Louis gives an awkward laugh, the sound like a balloon deflating and there’s an involuntary gulp lodged in there somewhere, and he wipes his hands on his trousers when they start dampening with sweat.   
  
“What?” he asks, dipping his head closer and Louis stands erect as a statue, arms locked on either side because he’s just so  _shocked_  about Niall’s reaction, and he’s  _this close_  to saying a quick “bye!” and running outside, grab Niall by the arm wherever he is, and tell them to kiss and make up because he absolutely hates being in this position. In the back of his mind, he makes a note to kill Niall when they get home.   
  
“I—er—I’m sorry about what just happened,” Louis says slowly, his mind finally succeeding to cooperate, and he can see the surprise on Liam’s face disappearing, which he takes for a good sign. “I’m not exactly sure  _why_  that happened but I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason.”   
  
“I don’t understand, Lou, did I do something wrong?” Liam says, voice sounding like a kicked puppy, and Louis can feel the discomfort crushing his ribcage and he wishes he had Niall standing next to him to fill them both in because he’s just as confused as Liam.  _Where the hell is he?_  “Should I not have come in?”   
  
“ _No_ , no, I’m sure it’s nothing like that,” Louis tries to convince him, though he’s not quite sure himself, “Niall’s just been…  _stressed_  lately and I think he’s just now taking the brunt of it full force. I’m sure he’ll come back and this’ll all be resolved.”   
  
But Liam’s expression doesn’t change and even though they’re not the closest people in the world, Louis feels an irresistible urge to wrap his arms around him and tell him everything’s going to be alright because Liam has that effect on people, can make someone want to console him when he’s feeling down because the look on his face is not something anybody wants to see, not something anyone  _should_  see.   
  
“But should I go over there and—” Liam begins, his tone getting desperate, but Louis shakes his head and leads him back to the bar, offering him a seat and slipping behind the counter.   
  
“Just give him some time to cool off, I’m sure he’ll be back in a few minutes,” Louis assures him, sliding the notebook over and placing a mug in front of his hands. As he pours fresh coffee from the pot, he takes a peek at the wall clock and realizes with a start that it’s less than two hours until showtime and he’s barely got the stage set up.   
  
“Erm, I’ve got—”   
  
“So, how’ve you been?” Liam cuts him off, closing his hands over the cup’s mouth and trapping the steam inside. Louis laughs awkwardly for the hundredth time and drops his shoulders, not wanting to be rude especially after not having seen each other for over a year. He sighs softly and drops down on the countertop on his elbows, figuring that taking Liam’s mind off the whole event means less questions and less feeling uncomfortable about the whole situation, which, now that he thinks about it, would be better for the both of them.   
  
“I’ve been good,” Louis says with a smile, flicking his eyes from Liam’s face to the clock. The minute hand moves over one and he goes back to Liam’s eyes. He’ll indulge him for half an hour at the most but that’ll be it. He’ll need to work on the stage as soon possible. “How about you?”   
  
::   
  
When Harry makes his final sale for the day, he offers his hand to the man standing in front of him with a smile and wishes him a good evening.   
  
Being cashier is more fun than he had initially thought. What he reckoned would be a very monotonous, almost sort of _boring_  position turned out to be one of the more fun things he’d done in a long time. He loved seeing the faces of the patrons when their eyes landed on the pastries and loved when they tried to strike up a conversation with him, which he didn’t mind, really. He loves to talk to people.   
  
Caroline stayed by his side the entire time, a pen in her hand ready to cross out any mistakes he made in the receipts and offering answers when the customers would ask about a certain pastry or of they did orders and deliveries and whatnot, and, to his surprise considering how clingy she seemed to be earlier, she only talked to him if he had questions regarding the register or if business was slow and the silence was dragging on too long, then they would talk about their lives and what they liked to do and other random things that would pop in their heads. It was talking to her like this that made him realize that Caroline isn’t all that bad.   
  
She has a twin sister, Jody, who’s always overshadowed her. Jody had better grades, better sense of style, a larger circle of friends, and more boyfriends than Caroline could count. Caroline, on the other hand, had been a bit geeky in high school, had a tight, close-knit circle of friends, had only a handful of boyfriends, though none serious, and had average grades. Jody went on to a university in Scotland to pursue her doctorate in psychology. Caroline went on to study dance in the local community college while working in a modestly-sized bakery. She’s still a bit bitter about her sister, but she can’t really blame her for anything. People just blossom differently, and it just turned out that Jody had spent a little more time in the sunshine than Caroline sitting halfway hidden in the shadows.   
  
“That’s why I’m always excited to meet new people,” Caroline had said. “I know I can be a bit abrasive and a tad loony, but it’s really just me appreciating the fact that someone actually wants to talk to me.”   
  
Harry immediately felt bad for thinking bad things about her before getting to know each other, and he takes it upon himself to take her to lunch at Bistro Eleanor tomorrow.   
  
“I just want to thank you for helping me get this job and training me and everything,” he says, and Caroline, making her way to the back table, stops in her tracks and fixes her eyes on him.   
  
“Really?” she asks, tucking her hair behind her ear and watching Harry with large, doe-like eyes. Harry nods with a smile as he opens the register and takes the stack of receipts, face starting to flush. Caroline’s face switches from inquiry to delight in a fraction of a second, and she lets out the tiniest giggle before giving him an enthusiastic nod. “I’d—I’d love it. Thanks.”   
  
“No problem,” Harry says, giving her the receipts and brushing his hair with his fingers. “I’ve, er, I’ve actually got to go and prepare for the performance. Would you mind if I left right now?”   
  
Caroline shakes her head and folds the stack, the smile never leaving her lips. “Of course not. You go on ahead and I’ll just see you after my shift.”   
  
“I’ll see you then.”   
  
With a grin, Harry takes his jumper from the cabinet below him and, slipping it on, he waves at Caroline and yells goodbye to Jenny before pushing through the doors and out into the cold, darkening street.   
  
He tightens his jumper around him and tries his best to get his hair from being blown back by occasional gusts of wind by dipping his head low and looking at the path ahead through his unruly curls.   
  
He can’t help but think about Louis’s behavior during lunch. He knows he shouldn’t dwell on it much—he barely knows him. And the few things  _he_  does know aren’t necessarily the best situations for a person to be in. Living with abuse alone is enough to occupy his mind, to not want to talk about trivial things, especially from a stranger, and really, Harry should have been more thoughtful, should have considered that Louis might not completely have healed from the whole ordeal, even though his bruise seems to fade by the hour and his smile makes it seem like it never happened in the first place.   
  
He sighs and kicks a crushed soda can into the street, and it’s then that he sees someone sitting on the edge curb, arms wrapped around his legs, hugging them close to his chest, hood fluttering softly in the breeze hiding a golden fringe that he flips out of his eyes when a sudden wind blows it into chaos.   
  
Niall.   
  
Harry doesn’t hesitate and walks faster until he’s behind him, and he plops down next to him, dips his head low so he can see his eyes, and asks softly, “You alright, mate?”   
  
Niall gives a slight nod and brings a hand to wipe his nose, and he gives a sniff before clearing his throat and saying, “Hey, Harry.”   
  
His voice wet and Harry’s heart drops, and he reaches his arm around Niall’s shoulders and pulls him close. “What’s wrong, Niall? Did something happen?”   
  
“I’m fine, really,” Niall replies, but the cracks in his voice betray him and Harry lifts his hand and starts to rub the back of his head, not really knowing what to say. Apparently sensing this, Niall ducks out from Harry’s touch and turns to face him, and he wipes his eyes with his sleeve and flashes him a convincing grin. “I’m alright. Lou’s freaking out in the café getting the stage set up. You should go see him.”   
  
“Are you going to be alright out here?” Harry asks, watching Niall’s glassy eyes catch the light from the streetlamps turning on all around them, and Niall nods with a laugh and wipes his eyes again.   
  
“I’m sure. Go on.”   
  
Harry gives his shoulder a light squeeze before standing up and making his way to the café, turning to look over his shoulder to see Niall pulling his hood lower down his head, his back shaking slightly from trying to suppress his sobs.   
  
::   
  
When Louis hears the bell and sees Harry’s shivering form emerging from the other side of the doors, he can’t help but feel a lightness in his chest, and he flicks his eyes back to Liam, managing to catch the last bit of his sentence.   
  
“…when I decided to put in an ad for a new roommate.”   
  
Louis nods inattentively, mind already occupied by Harry’s smile as he makes his way to them, and after seeing that Louis has shifted his attention to something else behind him, Liam turns just in time to see Harry give them a wave.   
  
“Hey, Harry,” Louis says after Harry stops next to Liam. “I didn’t know you were roommates with Liam here.”   
  
“Yeah, I didn’t know you guys knew each other,” Harry replies, and, shifting his eyes to Liam, he says, “What are you doing here so early? The performances don’t start for another hour and a half.”   
  
“Oh, just came to bring your things,” Liam says, patting the notebook next to his coffee mug, and Harry sees his guitar leaning on the seat next to him. “I thought you’d forgotten them.”   
  
“I was going back to the flat to get them but this is a much better idea, thanks,” Harry says, sliding the notebook across the counter and flipping it open. Suddenly, he remembers Niall sitting just a few ways outside, and he lifts his head and tells Louis, “Oh, I almost forgot. Niall’s sitting all by himself outside on the curb. He’s really upset. Do you know what happened?”   
  
Louis’s eyes flash open and he flicks them to the wall clock once again. An hour and twenty-two minutes until the show starts. He curses himself inwardly for wasting too much time and he takes off the apron and hangs it haphazardly on the wall behind him. Liam starts to get up but Louis shakes his head and grabs his jacket from the back table, and he says, “No, I’ll get him. You just prepare for your performance and we’ll be right in.”   
  
But Liam’s persistent and he calls out to Louis, who’s already halfway across the café, and asks, “Lou, is there anything I can do?”   
  
“Don’t worry, we’ll be back soon,” Louis dismisses, and he zips up his jacket, flips on his hood, and pushes through the doors and into the frigid air outside.   
  
It doesn’t take him long to spot Niall sitting a few ways from him, right next to a streetlamp, his head ducked between his knees and his arms around his legs. Before he knows it, he’s breaking into a run, and in a few seconds, he’s right beside Niall, and he sits himself properly a few inches apart because he doesn’t want to scare him.   
  
“Ni?” Louis asks, and Niall lifts his head almost at once, looking around to find the source of the sound, and when his eyes find Louis, he wipes them with the back of his hand and smiles.   
  
“What are you doing out here?” Niall asks wetly, his voice deep and cracking at parts. “Shouldn’t you be setting up? You’ve only got, like, an hour to finish, don’t you?”   
  
“That can all wait,” Louis says, heart feeling heavy when he sees Niall take a few short breaths and jam the base of his palms against his eyes, twisting them to stop the tears from flowing. Louis inches closer until their knees touch and wraps an arm around his shoulder. “Are you going to tell me what that was all about?”   
  
Niall doesn’t answer at first, only breathing heavily and picking at his nails, and Louis waits patiently, rubbing circles on his back and moving closer because he can feel Niall shivering against him.   
  
After what seems like forever, Niall finally clears his throat and leans his head on Louis’s shoulder, and Louis pulls him closer because his voice is soft and fragile when he says, “Why now, Lou? Why did he decide to come back now?”   
  
“I—I don’t know,” Louis says, mind shutting down and he feels helpless when he doesn’t know what to say. Niall’s always been good at this stuff, comes to him naturally—making people feel better—and it’s an ability Louis always lacked and envied. He wishes Niall can tell him what to do, what to say and how to say it, and he tries to recollect all the times Niall offered him consolation and the thousand times he’s comforted him when he came crying at his door at night when Zayn came home drunk. But nothing comes up and he’s left with the unsettling sound of Niall’s shaky breaths and cars rushing past them, and he resigns and lets out a deep sigh, wishing that he can be the better friend Niall deserves.   
  
“It’s been a year, Lou, a  _year_ ,” Niall continues, tone getting stronger, and Louis listens to every word, trying to come up with something,  _anything_  to say. “A year passed by and he’s never called or visited once, and now, he comes barging in like everything’s fine, like nothing ever happened. Why—why would he  _do_  that, Lou? How can he think that it’s  _fine_  to just walk up to me one day and say ‘hi’ like we haven’t seen each other since yesterday?”   
  
Louis’s breath hitches in his throat as he tries to make sense of everything, and it’s not until that moment that he realizes that he  _had_  been right, that something  _had_  gone on between him and Liam. He recalls a few moments where Niall seemed like the happiest boy on earth when he would spend time with Liam and he doesn’t know why he’s never noticed it, why he’d always been too preoccupied with his own relationship to see Niall’s, his best friend’s, budding right in front of his eyes, and he feels lousy,  _really_  lousy, and he can’t bring himself to look at Niall.   
  
“Ni, I’m—I’m sorry I never noticed before,” is all he can manage to say, his voice hoarse and dry, and Niall looks up at him with his glassy blue eyes for a fraction of a second before dropping them back down to the street, and Louis feels him shift closer.   
  
“We weren’t going out or anything,” Niall elaborates with a sniff, voice gaining momentum, and Louis can feel the hairs on the back of his head stand on end when Niall lifts his head and looks at Louis straight in the eye. “At least, not just yet. You know I have a hard time opening up to someone. I mean, it took  _us_  a few years to get this close. But with him, it was like—there was  _something_  about him that told me he wanted to know more, and I don’t know why but it was easy for me to let him in. I thought he loved me, I really did. I thought one day he’d sweep me off my feet and ride me up on the back of his horse to his castle like a fucking Disney film and we’ll live happily fucking ever after. And when I thought we were getting closer and I was working up the courage to make it official because I wanted us to be  _more_  than friends and I knew he wanted the same thing, too, he decides to go to fucking  _uni_  and I’m left waiting for his fucking phone calls every night that never came. Do you know how  _frustrating_  that is, Lou?”   
  
Louis can only shake his head, Niall’s anger radiating from his eyes almost visible, and he’s more dumbstruck than ever.   
  
“I tried calling him a million times but the line’s always fucking disconnected and I had no idea how to contact him. I thought he was  _angry_  at me. I thought that maybe I’d done something wrong, and I felt that way every fucking time I went to bed. But then  _that_  happened and I don’t know what to think anymore, Lou. I just—I don’t know.”   
  
“It—it’s not your fault, Ni,” Louis finally says, and he rummages in his brain for something else to say because Niall’s looking at him expectantly, like he’s supposed to know all the answers in the Universe when it’s the exact opposite. Louis doesn’t know anything and most of all, he wishes he can just wave a magic wand and everything would be fine and everyone would be happy. But that’s not the case, never is, and Niall’s eyes pull him back and he clears his throat and says, “You don’t—there’s no need to say anything. He played you and you don’t owe him anything. Now, instead of crying about it, why don’t we go back to the café and work on your stage and let’s just get through this day in one piece because you’ve worked really hard on it and I’d hate to see it all turn to shit and you know you’re going to be blaming  _me_  for everything in the morning and I’d really just rather sleep than listen to you yell my ears off.”   
  
Niall laughs and it’s like a cross between chuckling and sobbing and Louis can’t help but laugh, too, because he might not be as articulate and warm and caring as Niall, but he sure as hell can make the boy laugh, and it’s probably the reason why Niall stayed with him all this time, why Niall loves him so much.   
  
“Come on,” Louis says, standing up and pulling Niall to his feet. “You’ve got to help me set up because I’ve already wasted too much time and I have no fucking idea how to set up that stage of yours.”   
  
Niall laughs once more and pulls Louis into a hug, and Louis wraps his arms around his back and holds him tight when he hears Niall whisper,  _“thank you”_ , and he smiles and whispers back,  _“anytime, Ni.”_   
  
::   
  
“So, he just walked out?” Harry asks after Liam finishes explaining what happened to Niall, trying to make sense of Niall’s reaction considering he hasn’t seen Liam in over a year.   
  
“Yeah, though I’m not entirely sure why,” Liam says. “I wasn’t expecting a big, warm welcome but I thought he would at least, you know,  _talk_  to me.”   
  
“And now he’s crying outside. He’s really fucking upset, Liam.”   
  
“I know, I know,” Liam says, flustered, and he picks at the rim of his mug and fixes his eyes on the last of his coffee, “but I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know why it happened; it was all just so  _sudden_ . I just—I don’t know, should I go outside and try to sort it out? I feel really shitty about all this and—”   
  
“Alright, let’s get Niall calmed down first and we can all try to figure it out, okay?” Harry interrupts, feeling that nothing he can say will help with the situation, and he looks around and sees people start to trickle in. “Why don’t you ask them if you could help setting up? Niall told me Louis was freaking out and I’m sure he’s going to need all the help he can get.”   
  
“Okay, sure,” Liam says, lifting his head and looking at Harry with a nod. “I’ll do that.”   
  
At that moment, the bell brings Harry’s eyes to the doors just in time to see Louis pushing through them with Niall following behind him, and from the distance, he can see Niall’s eyes ringed with red, face a hint of pink, and Louis drops his hood and shrugs off his jacket as he makes his way to the counter.   
  
“You guys want anything else before I get started on the stage?” Louis asks as he puts his jacket down below him and his eyes land on Liam for a few seconds. He’s focused on Niall, whose back is turned to them facing the back table, and he can see his shoulders tense, eyes willing Niall to turn and look at him. Louis sighs and looks at Harry with a smile. “Anything for you, Harry?”   
  
“A hot chocolate would be nice,” Harry replies, and he looks at Liam for a moment before turning back to Louis and saying, “And Liam wants to say something.”   
  
Harry sees Louis’s body bristle and he senses that his first instinct is to walk in front of Niall, thinking that anything Liam might say at the moment might upset him more than he already is.   
  
“I, er, I’d like to help you set up the stage if you need some help,” Liam says slowly, thinking about each word before they left his lips.   
  
Louis lets out the tiniest breath of relief and nods his head with a smile. “Su—sure. Sure, I could use some help, actually. I expect we’ll be busy soon. Why don’t you go on ahead to the stage and I’ll be right there to tell you what’s going on, okay?”   
  
Liam nods, finishes his coffee, and stands up, giving Niall a lingering stare, who’s doing his best to avoid meeting Liam’s eyes as he works on Harry’s chocolate, before turning to Harry with a small smile and making his way to the stage. Harry looks at Louis with questioning eyes and Louis just shakes his head, patting Niall’s shoulder and grabbing his notepad on the counter, and follows Liam without another word.   
  
Niall eventually turns around with the chocolate and slides it into Harry’s fingers, and Harry watches him try to get his breathing steady as he grips the edge of the back table.   
  
“You want to share, Niall?” Harry asks with a smile, holding up the cup and shaking it slightly. “You look like you could use a drink.”   
  
Niall chuckles and shakes his head, but when Harry persists and holds it out to him with raised eyebrows, Niall sighs with a smile, snatches the cup, and takes a sip.   
  
::   
  
Louis feels uncomfortable about the whole situation and he’s just glad he got Liam away from Niall to give him some room to breathe.   
  
Louis flips open the notepad, clicks his pen, and taps the point on the paper, trying to push everything that had just happened out of his mind and focus on finishing the damn stage.   
  
“What do you think, Liam?” Louis says, lifting his eyes and landing them on Liam, who’s visibly troubled. “Do you think there should be banners around here somewhere?”   
  
Liam stretches his lips into what can be considered as a smile but Louis can sense the confusion and discomfort flying off him like solar flares, and it’s always been easy to tell what Liam’s thinking. He wears his heart on his sleeve and his eyes can tell you something more than his words can ever convey. Louis wonders why he never bothered calling Niall when he was at uni, and is very close to asking him straight on but his eyes find Niall behind him and he shakes his head, wants to push everything away for the night and just focus on the performances and they can all worry about this tomorrow.   
  
“Is anyone ever going to tell me what happened?” Liam asks, voice soft and demure, and Louis feels guilty at once, and he shifts his eyes back to the notepad and sighs.   
  
“I think it’s best if Niall told you himself,” Louis says, resigned, drawing the outline of a banner on the back of the stage. “Just—let him cool down, yeah? The more you give him space, the sooner you can talk about this.”   
  
He meets Liam’s face and he can see a thousand questions swimming in those deep, brown eyes, and Louis can almost hear them in his head but Liam nods with a soft  _“okay”_  and drops his eyes to look at the sketch on the notepad, and he slides the pen from Louis’s fingers and draws a few lines on the paper.   
  
“I think it’ll be better if you add the banners here,” Liam says, tapping his drawing and pointing to the curtains to make Louis see, and Louis nods and for a moment, he sees Niall laughing with Harry as he reaches over to touch Harry’s curls, and Louis feels a smile breaking out when he thinks that the storm’s finally over, and that the night will be smooth sailing from now on.   
  
::   
  
Twenty minutes to go before showtime and Harry’s an unsettled bundle of nerves, practically shaking out of his skin as he watches Louis and Liam work on the stage. It took them a few minutes to figure out what to do, but once they had an idea of how they want to take it, they set off to work at once, and now that they’re down to the last final details, Harry can feel his heart starting to pick up speed, and he turns back to Niall and gives out a long, deep breath.   
  
“Nervous?” Niall asks, wiping down the counter, and Harry looks at him and nods, a jittery feeling coursing through his veins and he feels himself shiver.   
  
“I haven’t performed in front of people in a while,” Harry admits, holding his cup tight and taking a sip. Niall smiles and shakes his head.   
  
“It’ll be fine, trust me. Once, I had to console this girl who started crying her eyes out right before she’s about to go on stage, and after she got through the first wave of nerves, she got her groove and she turned out to be  _brilliant_ . And I’m pretty sure you will, too.”   
  
“Thanks mate,” Harry says with a smile. “But you haven’t even heard me sing yet.”   
  
Niall shrugs with a grin and refills his cup. “If it’s anything like your speaking voice, I can already tell it’s going to be great.”   
  
Harry laughs and sees more people coming in and he almost feels claustrophobic, how his chest seems to be getting tighter and tighter and he turns back to Niall’s comforting eyes and grips the cup to the point of tearing, and he can _just_  see the ripples appearing in his chocolate in sync with his heartbeat and he closes his eyes and tries his best to think of the lyrics to his song.   
  
_“Harry.”_   
  
His eyes snap open at the sound and he finds Niall waving a piece of paper in front of his face.   
  
“I thought you were falling asleep,” Niall says, motioning for him to stand up. “Come on, let’s get you in line.”   
  
Harry nods, jumps from his chair, and snatches his guitar from the seat beside him. Niall slips out from behind the counter and stops next to Harry, and he places a hand on his shoulder and asks, “You ready, mate?”   
  
Harry laughs and nods, and Niall gives him a light squeeze before herding him to the back. There are five chairs lined up next to the stage, four of which are already occupied by the other performers. Harry takes a deep breath and takes the empty seat between three and five, and when Niall waves at him and turns to go up the steps to the stage, he turns to five, a woman of about twenty with a guitar pick stuck between her red lips, with a smile and asks, “Alright?”   
  
“Alright,” the woman replies with a nervous chuckle after taking the pick out, gripping her guitar tight and flashing a smile. “It’s my first time performing like this.”   
  
Harry grins and sighs in relief, glad he’s not the only rookie in the café, and he fixes his eyes ahead and sees more people coming in through the doors, some standing around the back and against the walls after all the seats have been occupied. It doesn’t take him long to find Louis sitting in one of the front tables, a few feet on the other side, and they lock eyes for a moment, Harry seeing his lips form  _“good luck”_  followed by a wide grin and he nods in return, and he tears his eyes away from him when he hears Niall’s voice resounding around the café.   
  
“Welcome ladies and gentlemen to the One Way performance night. Here, you’ll find nervous rookies with brilliant talents so I hope you’ll be supportive when they take the stage. Without further ado, I bring you our first performer. Wonderful performer and quite easy on the eyes, here now with us is the daughter of the owners of Bistro Eleanor just down the street. Let’s give a big round of applause to Miss Eleanor Calder!”


	10. Nine

Niall takes a curt bow and walks off the stage, and Harry turns his head to the woman sitting in the first seat just in time to see her glossy, dark hair whipping behind as she takes slow, graceful steps toward Niall.  
  
He’d been too busy trying to calm his nerves to familiarize himself with the faces of the other performances (with the exception of five, who’s tapping her teeth with her guitar pick next to him), but in the end, it turns out he doesn’t really need to because as she relieves Niall of the microphone on her way up the stage, Harry can see her perfectly in his line of sight.  
  
There’s a scattering of soft gasps and murmurs when she walks to the center and it doesn’t take him long to figure out the reason why.  
  
Eleanor was  _beautiful_ , her soft features and fair skin framed by a cascade of thick, wavy, brown hair, and her legs seem to stretch on forever under her tight-fitting jeans. There’s an air of elegance about her, and he doesn’t know if it’s the way she’s standing with her back straight, head held high, or the sharpness gleaming in her eyes, looking over the audience with the corners of her lips curled up in a small smile, but whatever it is, Harry just can’t seem to take his eyes off her.  
  
“Good evening, everyone!” she says, both hands holding the microphone a few inches from her lips, and half the audience members return the greeting while the rest went on about their business. She gives a laugh and continues. “My name is Eleanor Calder and I’m going to be singing an original song titled ‘All the Girls Say’. Worked on it for quite a while actually, so I hope you’ll enjoy it.”  
  
She turns her head to Niall standing beside a stereo system hidden behind one of the curtains and nods, and when Niall presses a button, the beginning of a pop song starts to blare from the speakers surrounding the café, and, taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes and begins to sing.  
  
Her voice isn’t particularly stellar, about as average as half the pop singers monopolizing the radio stations nowadays, but what she lacks in singing abilities, she definitely makes up for in performance. The song is upbeat, the lyrics campy and sugar-coated, and she doesn’t hesitate to use her long legs to her advantage. She uses every inch of the stage as she dances around in her high heels, with choreography that Harry reckons is difficult enough with regular footwear and he wonders how on God’s green Earth she can hop around in them like she’s barefoot. She winks and points and waves her body while she sings about materialism and beauty and Harry divides his attention between her and the audience, gauging their reactions and trying to see if they’re responding well. The majority of them are visibly enjoying the performance, some rocking about in their seats to the beat of the music while others, particularly a group of younger men sitting at the back, hoot and whistle like they’re at a rowdy house party, and what started out as a mild disturbance escalates to the point that Louis and Liam had to ask them to leave, and when at first they refused to cooperate, Harry sees Mike making his way towards them like a lion going in for the kill, and he smiles to himself when the boys immediately spring to action and push each other out of the café, sticking their tongues out and making rude hand gestures at him while they scatter like bugs through the darkened street.  
  
He meets Louis’s eyes as they head back to the bar and Louis flashes him a quick smile. Harry’s face heats up and smiles back, watching Louis jump right into an order as Liam settles back into his seat to catch the last of Eleanor’s performance. Giving him a nod and getting one in return, Harry turns his attention back to the stage and watches Eleanor wrapping up her song with a few more shakes of her behind and one final stomp on the stage. The song fades out and she takes her place back in the center taking deep breaths, a wide smile stretching her face when the place erupts into applause and Harry feels the hairs at the back of his neck stand up, anxiety filling his veins, wondering if he’ll get the same reaction when he takes his place on the stage.  
  
“Thank you everyone!” Eleanor says, managing a quick curtsey before moving behind the curtain and handing the microphone off to Niall with a smile, and Niall walks over to her spot clapping his hands.  
  
“Give it up for Eleanor Calder, everyone!” Niall says and another round of applause breaks out, slightly louder this time, and Harry starts to feel jittery in his seat, just wanting to get the performance done and over with before his nerves get the better of him. He sighs and looks around to see Eleanor tucking her hair behind her ear as she takes her seat, and they both share a quick smile before Eleanor turns her attention to the audience.  
  
Niall announces the next performer but Harry’s too preoccupied by his thoughts to hear the name, and instead of following the tall young man standing up from his seat and relieving Niall of his position, he finds his eyes veering off towards the entrance, where he sees a shivering Caroline, clad in a flashy pink scarf and matching bubble jacket, pushing her way through the doors and heading for the bar.  
  
::  
  
The moment Louis sees Caroline, it’s like a black hole erupted in the center of the room and sucked out all the air around them, though instead of a menacing cosmic body, it’s an obnoxious young woman walking towards him wearing a sickeningly pink ensemble that looks like it belongs in the closet of a thirteen year-old girl.  
  
Scratch that, not even a thirteen year-old girl would consider wearing that eyesore, and Louis wonders if she owned a mirror back in her house.  
  
Instead of dwelling on it, he just rolls his eyes and moves over to the other end of the bar, trying his best to avoid eye contact with her as possible, and he’s grateful when a man sits down in front of him and orders a coffee to go. He turns around and starts up the coffee machine and keeps his back to the counter, tapping his fingers on the wood as he watches the black liquid streaming into the plastic cup.  
  
“Hey, Louis,” he hears Caroline say and he tries his best not to groan because she’s the last person he wants to talk to, not really too keen making casual conversation with her when she practically monopolized Harry during their lunch date earlier without so much as a warning. It isn’t so much that she was  _annoying_  per se (he doesn’t really know her well enough to fully gauge her personality); it’s the fact that she’s so obviously into Harry that he’d have to be an infant not to notice otherwise, and he ponders whether Harry  _can_  tell and he’s just pandering to her because he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings or Louis is just in too deep with his feelings for Harry that his mind’s probably exaggerating the whole thing. Either way, he’s already decided that he doesn’t want anything to do with her, but for the sake of being civil (she’s still Harry’s friend after all), he flashes her a smile as he hands the cup of coffee to the customer.  
  
“Hi,” Louis says simply, punching the order in the register and keeping his eyes to the keys.  
  
“Everything alright?” she asks, and he presses the wrong button and messes up the sale, taken aback by the question, and he shakes his head in reply and clears the machine before trying again.  
  
“Listen, about earlier,” she starts after the man thanks Louis and goes back to his seat, and Louis pretends to count money. He’d much rather not talk about it at all. Or anything, as a matter of fact. “I’m sorry if I just sort of burst into you guys. It was not my intention to intrude.”  
  
Louis tries not to scoff, and he closes the register and turns his back to her to fix himself a cup of coffee. He tries to think of a reply but he decides he’s better off not saying anything at all because then she might eventually get the hint and leave him alone. Louis has never had a problem of being blunt and all things considered, it’s quite a miracle that Niall’s stuck with him all these years, but he reckons it comes with the “best friends forever” territory so it really shouldn’t surprise him this much anymore.  
  
“I hope we didn’t get off on the wrong foot,” she says hopefully after waiting a few seconds for him to answer, and Louis sighs, takes a sip of his coffee, and turns back to her with a neutral expression.  
  
“Look, there’s no need—” he starts, but he’s interrupted by two women ordering sandwiches and blended coffee and he sighs and gets to work at once, turning away from the expectant look in her eyes and gathering up the necessary ingredients from the cupboards.  
  
“Mate, do you need some help?” Liam asks out of nowhere and Louis looks over his shoulder to look at him because he’s forgotten he’s sitting there, having been quiet all this time, and he almost declines because when Niall was bedridden for a whole day, he had to handle about eight orders at once without any problems. Then again, Liam’s worked with them before and he knows the ropes and another pair of hands can be a valuable asset when it comes to performance nights, when at least one of them has to stay on the stage to coordinate the whole thing. Louis wonders why Mike hasn’t hired a new employee since Zachary quit a few months ago, and looking back on it, he should have offered the job opening to Harry in the first place so they could have avoided the Caroline situation entirely.  
  
“Sure, if you don’t mind,” Louis says, turning back to the blender and dumping some ice into it. He hears shuffling behind him and he sees Liam’s arm shoot out over his shoulder to grab Niall’s apron hanging from the wall.  
  
“Okay, you ladies said you wanted some sandwiches, right?” Liam asks and Louis smiles when he hears soft giggling behind him. Liam’s always been a big hit with the ladies since secondary school and he has his face to thank for it. He’s always thought Liam was one of those rare people blessed with both beauty and humility, though he’s never really spent much time with him outside of Niall’s company to tell otherwise, and he has to wonder how, even with those qualities, he managed to piss Niall off to infinity and beyond, and he almost overfills the cups trying to riddle it out.  
  
“Here you go,” Louis says with a smile as he hands the cups to the women, who are in the middle of asking Liam if he’s new to the café.  
  
“—worked here a year ago, but I had to leave for uni,” Louis manages to catch Liam say, and when he punches in their order in the register, his eyes wander off to the performers waiting next to the stage, and he smiles when he catches Harry’s attention and gives him a thumbs up. Harry grins back with a nod and turns back to Niall, who’s just taken his spot in the center of the stage to introduce the third performer.  
  
::  
  
Harry doesn’t know what to do with himself.  
  
It’s not his first time performing in front of people. He’s been performing for family members during birthday parties or parties in general ever since he could hold a guitar, and he’s always been met with great response. But there’s quite a difference between fifty strangers and fifteen relatives back home, and there’s a part of him that’s starting to wonder if they only cheered for him because they were family and that he actually sounded terrible and why is he even doing this in the first place?  
  
He sighs and tries to calm his nerves by closing his eyes and steadying his breathing. Maybe that’s a bit too farfetched, he admits, but the woman on stage is halfway through her performance and the clock is ticking faster than he anticipated, and his nerves are jumping restlessly under his skin and there’s a funny feeling erupting in his stomach, like he’s about to throw up, and he almost excuses himself to the bathroom when he hears five’s voice next to him.  
  
“Would you please stop that?” she asks. “You’re making me nervous.”  
  
It takes a second for Harry to realize that she’s talking about him tapping his guitar with his nails, and he sits upright and turns to her with an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”  
  
“That’s alright. Fucking nervous as hell either way.”  
  
“Me too, but it shouldn’t be that bad,” Harry says, and he thinks he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone and he shifts his eyes back up the stage, watching the woman sitting on the stool singing about heartbreak and moving on. He catches Niall’s eyes from behind the curtains and Niall nods in his direction, and Harry tries his best to form a convincing smile.  
  
Suddenly, the music stops and Harry watches as she stands up and takes a bow, and his heart starts to pound in his chest, feet about ready to take him to the other direction and never look back.  
  
“Ready?” five asks, giving him an encouraging smile.  
  
“Not in the slightest,” Harry replies with his own, and they share a small laugh before Niall takes back the stage over the screeching of the microphone, and Harry’s eyes immediately fall on Louis when Niall begins to speak.  
  
“Alright, everyone, our next performer’s just moved here four days ago so I’d like it if you can give him a nice, warm welcome. Good lad, very handsome, and has hair bigger than the entire continent of Asia, please give it up for Mister Harry Styles!”  
  
The applause doesn’t quite register in Harry’s ears at first, starting almost like a garbled ringing in his ears before spreading out into the familiar sound of clapping and whistling, and it takes him a moment to take his eyes off Louis, who’s clapping and yelling something along with Liam behind him, and up the stage to Niall motioning for him to get up.  
  
“Go on,” he hears five say, and he feels a slight push at his side and he’s on his feet in a second. He shakes his head to get himself out of his stupor and quickly makes his way to Niall, now offering the microphone, and when he takes the first step up the stage, he momentarily loses his balance and stumbles forward, landing on his hands and knees, his guitar barely missing the floor, and he feels someone tugging at his arm to help him to his feet. Still slightly in shock, Harry finds his footing in a flash and dusts his pants before turning to Niall with a smile.  
  
“Thanks,” he says, taking the microphone from Niall’s hands.  
  
“Good luck, mate,” Niall whispers with a pat on his back before disappearing back behind the curtain, and he shifts the guitar strap around his shoulder and faces the audience, heart now thrashing in his chest as he glances over each individual face looking up at him, still mortified about what just happened, and he tries to ignore the stinging in his knees and lifts the microphone to his lips.  
  
“Well, that wasn’t very graceful, was it?” Harry says, hoping to win them over with a laugh, and to his surprise he managed to get a few giggles. They do nothing for his nerves, though, which seem like they’re coiling uncomfortably around his chest and the odd feeling in his stomach intensifies, and for a split second, he thinks he  _is_ going to throw up, but he looks over at Louis once more and he fixes his attention on his blue eyes, and for some strange reason, he finds it very comforting.  
  
“I’m, er, my name’s Harry Styles and I’ll be performing an original song called ‘I Want to Save You Tonight’. I hope you’ll like it.”  
  
Another round of applause and he takes a moment to sit down on the stool behind him and position his guitar on his lap, his fingers already gliding along the proper strings, and he takes in the audience one more time before he closes his eyes and begins to strum.  
  
::  
  
When Louis hears Harry’s voice, it’s like time suddenly stopped.  
  
He’s heard many great talents in performance nights before and he’s quite used to the fact that there’s always someone signing up with an incredible aptitude for singing, but there’s something about Harry’s voice, deep and full and soothing, that catches his attention. He spends a moment watching Harry closely, the way his fingers dance around his guitar like it’s second-nature, the way his eyebrows seem to slant like he’s thinking deeply, the way his eyes slowly emerge under his lashes and sweep over the audience before landing on him.  
  
Louis feels his pulse quicken and his face heat up when he meets his eyes but he doesn’t turn away, keeps his eyes on him like he’s the only person in the room, but in the back of his head, it almost seems like a lost cause, like there’s just no possible way that Harry would choose him over other people, and he starts to think that maybe they’ll only be friends and nothing more. He tries to push the thoughts away and enjoy Harry’s performance, and he doesn’t hear the order being made until Liam prods him in the back and points at the man sitting at the bar pulling out his wallet.  
  
“Sorry about that,” Louis says, turning to him with an apologetic smile. “What did you say you wanted?”  
  
“He wanted iced coffee,” Liam replies, setting down a muffin on the counter. “Come on mate, pay attention.”  
  
“I know, I’m sorry. One iced coffee, coming right up.”  
  
Louis turns around and opens the cupboard for a plastic cup when something in his peripheral vision catches his eye, and he looks over his shoulder through the glass windows just in time to see a person coming into view under the streetlamp. At first, he can’t make out anything other than his jacket, his face hidden under the hood, but when he goes back to get the coffee machine going, he almost drops the cup in surprise when he realizes who it is.  
  
He gave that jacket to him on their first anniversary.  
  
He gave that jacket to Zayn.  
  
::  
  
Harry tries not to think too much when he’s singing because he tends to get the words mixed up, and he manages to keep his mind clear for the most part, training his eyes to look over the heads of the audience, the ceiling, the floors, never focusing on anything for too long, and when his nerves get the best of him, he just closes his eyes and loses himself to the sound of his guitar. He can see the words running through his mind interspersed with notes and it’s taken him a long time to differentiate between them, couldn’t do one thing without messing up the other, but now, it’s almost second-nature to him, something as quick and easy as breathing, and when he takes a peek at the audience through his lashes, he smiles when he sees them responding well, some moving their heads to the music, others fixing their eyes on him, gaze unbroken.  
  
He thinks everything’s going well and he lets himself breathe, but the moment he does, he notices a distinctive movement coming from the bar, and in another second, he sees Louis making his way outside with his jumper in his hand, the expression on his face resolute and a little bit fearful.  
  
When he pushes through the doors, Harry can’t help but feel confused, and for a moment, he fails to form the words and all that comes out is a strangled sound, like he’s trying to tell Louis to come back, and when he realizes his mistake, he shuts his eyes and picks out the next set of words in his mind, tries to weave them in with the notes as smoothly as he can. He manages to salvage the rest of his performance with a quick smile at the audience, though forced and strained, but he’s taught himself how to smile through anything and it works for the most part because the audience looks like it did when he began to sing.  
  
But it does little to distract him from the fact that Louis is talking to someone outside standing a few feet from the streetlamps, face hidden by a hood.  
  
::  
  
It’s cold outside, colder than Louis had expected, and he tightens his jumper around him as he takes slow steps onto the pavement, the sound of the door closing behind him muffled by the winds, eyes focused solely on the person standing in front of him, barely illuminated by the light hanging above his head.  
  
He doesn’t know why he decided to come out, why he didn’t just let it roll off his shoulder and go on with his job like he’s supposed to, not to mention walking out in the middle of Harry’s performance and missing the last half of his song, but it’s almost like his body responded on instinct and his intuition’s telling him that there’s a reason why he’s there.  
  
The street’s very busy, with people scurrying between them like they’re missing something important and cars honking and screeching and throwing bright lights all around them, and it’s an not uncommon sight, really, admittedly quite hard to ignore, but for some reason, Louis sees past them like they’re not there at all, past the hurried voices, the distinct sound of giggling girls, sees past them like he’s wading through a thick fog and the only thing he can see is a light shining from the distance.  
  
And that light in the distance is Zayn, wrapped up in the jacket Louis spent an entire paycheck on after Zayn paid particular interest in it when they were out shopping one day, hands deep in his pockets, hazel eyes glinting through the shadow cast by his hood, and Louis stands still for a moment, trying to figure out what he’s doing there after Mike had already told him he was forbidden to enter the café.  
  
There’s a voice telling him to go back inside, that this is a bad idea after all and he doesn’t owe it to Zayn to talk to him after what happened, doesn’t owe him anything just like Harry had said, and he starts to feel a faint pulsing on his bruise when he remembers the way Zayn’s hand felt when it struck his face, and he almost listens to it and turns away, walk back in the café and pretend like nothing had happened, but there’s a gnawing in the pit of his stomach telling him that he needs to do this, needs to set everything straight once and for all because the more he tries to ignore it, the more it eats him up inside.  
  
But most of all, he just wants to know why he did it.  
  
After a procession of drunk, happy teenagers, Louis takes a deep breath and gathers his nerves to walk forward, trying to calm himself with the thought that Zayn wouldn’t dare lay a hand on him with all these people walking past, and he stops when he’s only a foot or two away, and he folds his arms over his chest and watches him warily.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Louis asks, his voice tiny, and he clears his throat and takes another deep breath in an attempt to calm his rapid heartbeat.  
  
Zayn lifts his hand and Louis recoils at once, taking a step back, heart beginning to pound against his ribs, but Zayn only slides the hood down and exposes his face, and Louis can’t help but stare at the redness around his eyes. He’d been crying, no doubt, though about what, Louis isn’t quite sure.  
  
“I’ve missed you, Lou,” Zayn says with a smile but Louis knows him enough to see through it, to see through the false sense of security Zayn had perfected over the years and he keeps his face impassive.  
  
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Louis persists, tone getting stronger.  
  
“I’m not supposed to be  _inside_ , Lou,” Zayn says, keeping his smile and taking a step forward, and Louis tenses and takes a step back, hands immediately uncoiling and dropping to his sides.  
  
“Don’t come any closer,” he warns in a sharp whisper.  
  
Zayn stops in his tracks and looks at Louis with wide eyes, as though he’d just been struck, and the hurt and surprise spreading in his pupils makes Louis uncomfortable.  
  
It wasn’t often that he saw Zayn looking anything other than happy, only a handful of times throughout the time they spent together, and Louis thought some people were just naturally that way, that they had better things to do than sulk about things they had no control over, so in the rare instances that he saw Zayn without a smile on his face, it never failed to unsettle him, like the expression wasn’t natural, like it didn’t belong.  
  
“Lou,” Zayn begins, his voice beginning to crack, and Louis can see his eyes starting to mist. “I—I don’t know how to even  _begin_  to apologize about what’s happened between us—”  
  
“ _Don’t_ , Zayn,” Louis cuts in, tongue like knives, and he’s starting to feel more confident, resolve burning in his veins like acid, at the way Zayn seems to shrink back at the sound, a complete turnaround from the Zayn he left a few nights before.  
  
“ _Please_ ,” Zayn says, and Louis can hear the desperation coating his voice. “Just—please listen to what I have to say.”  
  
Louis closes his eyes and turns away, thinks nothing Zayn can say will make him reconsider.  
  
“I’m—I’m  _so_  sorry, Lou. I really am.”  
  
Louis opens his eyes in a flash and he remembers the time he heard those words for the first time, back when Zayn first raised his hand at him.  
  
 _Louis absentmindedly flips through the channels, never paying more than a second’s attention to the flashy pictures illuminating his walls before it switches to another program, and it takes his mind off things a little, distracting him enough so he’s not looking at the clock every five minutes and trying to work out what’s taking Zayn so long.  
  
Zayn usually comes home at eight o’clock on the dot but this time, he’s been invited over to his friend’s house for a going-away party, and he called Louis up a few hours earlier to tell him he’ll be a little late and don’t wait up for him if he’s not back by eleven. Of course, Louis understands, doesn’t remember the last time Zayn hung out with his friends, and it’s good for him, he thinks, always good to be with friends. Niall himself’s just left two hours ago, brought along with him two boxes of pizza and a pack of canned soda (lukewarm because it was on such short notice), and Louis reckons it’s the food crowding his belly that’s making it difficult for him to sleep, and he decided to wait up for Zayn and digest at the same time and he’s been stuck in the sofa watching the blinking screen ever since.  
  
He tears his eyes away from a music video and landed them on the wall clock above the set. Nearly one. He sighs and links his hands over his stomach, fixing his gaze back on the girls dancing on the beach in their skimpy bikinis.  
  
It’s not until he can feel his eyelids dropping that he hears the door unlock, and he sits up at once and turns his head to the hall, just in time to see Zayn dropping his keys on the carpet and closing the door a little stronger than necessary.  
  
As he shrugs off his jacket, Louis sees a bottle of beer in his hand, and he sighs deeply before getting to his feet and making his way to him.  
  
It’s the third time he’s come with a bottle this week and Louis was okay with it at first, thinks that everyone’s entitled to their indulgences and he’s not the kind of person who tells other people how to live their lives, and Zayn managed to keep it in moderation, only going out for a drink about two days and coming home sober as sober can be. Zayn can handle his liquor and it takes a lot to get him buzzed, unlike Louis who turns bright red and starts complaining about the room spinning after one sip. But lately, starting a few weeks back when he told Louis he’s going to quit smoking, he’s been drinking a lot more, and Louis tries not to say anything because he doesn’t want to nag, because he’s not his mother, but this—this is starting to get out of hand, he thinks, and there’s a fine line between indulgence and addiction and he thinks Zayn’s finally crossed the threshold.  
  
“Zayn?” Louis asks softly, watching Zayn trying to untie his laces with one hand, and Zayn looks up at the sound and flashes him a wide smile.  
  
“Hey, Lou,” he says with a chuckle, turning back to his shoe, and when he fails to untie it for the second time, he adds, “Think you can help me, babe? I can’t—can’t get this bloody thing off.”  
  
Louis smiles back and kneels down, reaching his hands over and undoing the laces with one quick tug, and he looks up at Zayn and studies his face as he moves on to the other shoe.  
  
His eyes are glazed over and watching him with amusement, smile never fading, and Louis can just see a faint bruise poking out from under his turtleneck sweater. His heartbeat starts to quicken as he gets to his feet, and Zayn picks himself up and places a kiss on his cheek.  
  
“Thanks,” he whispers, his breath tickling Louis’s ears, but Louis is too preoccupied with the bruise on his neck. It’s not an ordinary bruise, no, because Louis had given it to him a few times before, too familiar to dismiss, and he knows Zayn’s not telling him something.  
  
“How—how did the party go?” Louis asks with a smile, trying his best not to make it look forced, though he doesn’t really need to since Zayn’s sensory perception isn’t a hundred percent at the moment, and Zayn beams at him before striding across the hall and into the living room, and Louis turns around and watches him jump on the sofa and lie on the cushions, spilling some of the alcohol on the carpet.  
  
“Oh, it was great, Lou, you should have been there!” he declares loudly, and Louis slowly makes his way to him.  
  
“I bet it was,” he says, sitting on the armrest and looking down at him with a grin. “You look like you had a lot of fun.”  
  
“Loads,” Zayn says, resting the bottle on the floor and sitting up, face bursting with enthusiasm. “There was this one moment when Paul put—he took off his clothes and put the lampshade on his head and he started running around the house screaming ‘You’ll never take me alive!’ and he ran—he ran into a wall and got knocked out cold!”  
  
He ends the story with a laugh and Louis chuckles in response, but inside, he can feel anxiety filling his veins, the image of someone sucking on Zayn’s neck burning in the back of his mind, and he tries to push the thought away with a shake of his head.  
  
“Did, erm, did someone drive you home?” Louis ventures, eyes flicking from Zayn to the bottle then back to him, and Zayn’s expression changes from glee to confusion in a flash, something that unnerves Louis immediately, and he swings his legs over the edge of the sofa and plants them on the floor next to the bottle.  
  
“No, I—I drove,” Zayn replies, keeping his eyes to the television screen. That’s what Louis had been scared of.  
  
Louis gets to his feet. “Zayn, you know better than to drive after drinking. You could have been arrested, you know?”  
  
“I know all that,” Zayn says, tone getting defensive, and he stands up and scratches the back of his head. “Everyone else was drunk out of their minds and nobody could drive me home.”  
  
“You could have called me. I would have picked you up.”  
  
“I thought you were sleeping already and I didn’t want to bother you.”  
  
Louis sighs and pinches the area between his eyes. “When it comes to these things, it’s not a matter whether you’d be disturbing me or not. You could have got into an accident, Zayn. You could have been hurt.”  
  
Zayn narrows his eyes and Louis feels his face heating up, heart already pounding against his ribs, because there’s a sharpness in them that he’s never seen before, a sense of hostility that doesn’t belong to him.  
  
“Well, I got home in one piece, alright? What the fuck do you want me to do, Lou, turn myself in to the fucking police? Would that make everything better?”  
  
The words hit Louis’s ears like knives and his eyes widen in surprise. This isn’t Zayn. Zayn would never say those things to him.  
  
“Of—of course not,” Louis says incredulously, trying to work out what made him so angry all of a sudden. “All I’m saying is—”  
  
“Oh, shove it,” Zayn cuts in, and he bends down to pick up the bottle. Louis’s breath hitches painfully in his throat. “I’m going to bed.”  
  
He takes a swig and turns around to make his way down the hallway, and Louis, desperation overtaking him, grabs the bottle from Zayn’s hand and throws it on the ground, and Zayn spins back around and looks at him with wild eyes.  
  
“I don’t like this, Zayn,” Louis says, kicking the bottle across the room. “I don’t like how you’ve been coming home with a bottle like it’s fucking glued to your hand. This isn’t you, Zayn, please.”  
  
Zayn look at him with an indiscernible expression and it’s like time stops for a moment, and before Louis can see it coming, Zayn’s grabbed his wrist tightly and tugs him closer until their faces are a few inches apart. Fear fills Louis’s lungs and at first, he only looks at Zayn with wide eyes, too surprised by the action to do anything else, but when he finally gets his bearings, he takes a few steps back and tugs at his arm, trying to break Zayn’s tightening grip.  
  
“Zayn, you’re hurting me,” Louis says, trying to keep calm, and he tries to wrench Zayn’s hand with his own, but Zayn’s too strong for him and Zayn pulls him back.  
  
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Zayn warns, voice deep and rough as sandpaper, and Louis starts pulling at his arm more frantically, blood rushing to his head and heart rampaging in his chest, but Zayn’s grip doesn’t budge and all it does is make him angrier, and in a second, Louis feels something slam against the side of his face, swift and sudden, and the force was strong enough to send him reeling to the floor, knocking the breath right out of him.  
  
His ear starts to ring and there’s a pounding on the entire right half of his face, a painful throbbing like he’s been hit with a hammer, and he brings a hand to the afflicted area and winces in pain when it makes contact, a thousand knives pressing against his skin. His eyes start to water and he looks up at Zayn, head storming with a million thoughts, and watches as Zayn looks at his own hand in horror before dropping to his knees and looking at Louis with pleading eyes.  
  
“Oh my God, Lou, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—I don’t know—” he stammers, moving closer, his eyes starting to well up, but Louis is still in shock of what just happened and he pushes himself back with his feet, wanting to keep as much distance as he can between them, and he can feel the tears starting to flow along his cheek. He presses both of his hands on the side of his face and before long, he’s sobbing, shoulders shaking and chest heaving, trapping the words he desperately wants to say.  
  
“Lou, I’m—” Zayn chokes out, voice fragile, cracking, and Louis watches the tears rolling down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Lou, I—I really am. Please, Lou, I—”_  
  
“Louis.”  
  
Louis blinks and he’s back on the pavement, and the first thing he sees is Zayn watching him with eyebrows drawn together, curious, and Louis doesn’t know what to think anymore, doesn’t know what Zayn’s trying to accomplish by telling him whatever he has to say because he’ll never change, he’ll still be the same Zayn who turns to a bottle for comfort, someone who whispered sweet nothings in his ears whenever he came home drunk, telling him he’ll stop the first thing tomorrow only to pick up another bottle on his way home and drinking it all in one swig.  
  
Louis doesn’t need it, doesn’t need the empty promises, the burden of false hope pressing against his chest that maybe Zayn  _will_  follow through, maybe he  _will_  mean what he said and change everything back to the way it was. He knows that would never happen, not after the final straw, and he tries to think of the fact that he’s happier without Zayn, that he can function properly again, and he transforms his features as neutral as he possibly can to show him exactly just that.  
  
 _“Louis?”_  
  
Louis’s ears perk up at the sound and he turns his head just in time to see Liam pushing through the doors and tightening his jacket around him.  
  
“Damn, it’s cold out here,” he says with a shiver, making his way beside Louis, and turning to him, he adds, “Need you back at the bar, mate. Getting some  _very_  impatient customers and I’d love another set of hands.”  
  
“Y-yeah,” Louis says, fixing his attention back to Zayn. “Sure.”  
  
“Wait, Lou,” Zayn says when Louis starts turning to face the café, and Louis stops for a moment.  
  
“Oh, hello mate,” Liam says. “Haven’t seen you in ages.”  
  
“Liam,” Zayn says simply, voice a little surprised but enthusiastic. “You—you too, mate. How you been?”  
  
“Been better,” Liam replies, and when Louis turns back around, he feels Liam’s hand on his lower back, patting it a few times. Louis looks at him from the corners of his eyes and it’s like his expression’s telling him that everything’s going to be fine, that he’s there and Louis has nothing to worry about.  
  
::  
  
At first, Harry tries to ignore it, tells himself that whoever it is, it must be someone important, and really, it’s not like Louis  _has_  to watch his performance and he’s probably quite tired of listening to wanna-be musicians singing their lungs out on-stage every week, but when Liam hangs Niall’s apron back on the wall and makes for the door a few minutes later, Harry can’t help but think that something’s gone wrong.  
  
He casts a sideways glance at Niall and discovers that he’s not the only one who’s noticed something’s going on. Standing just behind the curtain, Niall’s face is stony and severe, eyes slightly squinted, glaring across the room and out the windows, looking like he wants to make like Liam and pop out into the street and figure out what’s happening. Maybe it’s because Harry’s been spoiled with his sunny disposition ever since they met, because it never fails to unnerve him whenever Niall’s not smiling.  
  
He turns back to the audience when it comes to the part of the song where he hums, and he thinks that whatever it is, it’s going to be fine because Liam’s there, and maybe he’s just thinking on it too much, always lets his imagination get the better of him when it’s probably nothing more than a friendly conversation with an old friend, but there are still variables that don’t add up and Harry tries harder to make out the person they’re speaking with, a little easier now that he had taken off his hood.  
  
The attempt doesn’t last long because it’s getting near the end of his song and he closes his eyes and pushes everything out, letting the music take him to the brink, to finish steady and strong, and after a few notes, the song’s finished, and, standing up and sliding the guitar along his side, he beams at the audience and takes a bow, taking in the applause erupting all around the café.  
  
“Thank you so much, everyone!” he calls out, an overwhelming feeling of exhilaration washing over him, and in the next second, he feels Niall’s hand on his shoulder and he turns back with a smile.  
  
“Good job, mate,” Niall whispers and Harry returns the microphone to him.  
  
“Thanks,” he whispers back, and he waves at the audience before gripping his guitar strap and making his way down the steps.  
  
“Now, wasn’t that something?” Niall announces when Harry takes his seat, and five pats him on the shoulder, mouthing “well done” with a broad grin. Harry nods his thanks and turns his attention back to Niall, still getting over the rush he got from the applause.  
  
It doesn’t completely distract him from Louis, however, and before long, he finds his eyes moving out the window to watch Liam and the other person talking, and Louis practically shoulder-to-shoulder with him, arms crossed over his chest. Without the pressure of remembering the lyrics, he gets a better view of the person, more than before, and it doesn’t take him long to discover, with a start and an audible intake of breath, that Liam and Louis are talking to Zayn.  
  
::  
  
Louis is grateful that Liam seems intent of cutting the conversation short no matter how much Zayn persisted because the more he spends time in his presence, the more confused he gets. He knows he should be scared of Zayn, that’s what his mind and body’s screaming at him, and maybe he is, somewhat, scared of what happened and what he’s capable of, but for some odd reason, he can’t shake off the inexplicable feeling of comfort when he’s around Zayn. It’s not a particularly strong feeling, just a subconscious echo ringing somewhere in his nervous system, and maybe it’s because he’s still recovering from the fact that they’re not together anymore, but it’s almost as though his body’s  _missing_  Zayn.  
  
The thought scares him more than the bruise spattered on his cheek.  
  
“Listen mate, I hate to cut this short but we’ve really got to go,” Liam says and Louis shakes himself out of his thoughts and tries to avoid eye contact with Zayn, setting his eyes instead on a pebble next to his foot.  
  
“But I’ve got to talk to him,” Zayn persists, tone gaining momentum but still retaining its friendly atmosphere, though it’s quickly deteriorating by the sound of his voice.  
  
“Sorry, mate,” Liam says, pressing his palm on Louis’s back and guiding his turn. “I need him at the bar. Maybe after his shift’s over, yeah?”  
  
At this, Louis lifts his eyes up to Zayn to look at him one last time before going back inside and for one chilling moment, he swears he saw a familiar flash of anger flit across his eyes, like a flame burning bright for a second, and Louis instinctively grips Liam’s shirt, fearing that there might be another incident like the one Harry had to suffer through the day they met. Liam looks at him with furrowed brows for a moment but he seems to understand, and he presses on his back more urgently until he’s facing the doors to the cafe.  
  
“Alright,” Louis hears Zayn say, and it takes him by surprise because he doesn’t usually give up so easily, and he hesitates for a moment, long enough to hear him say, “I want to talk to you, Lou. Even just for a little bit. Please.”  
  
Louis fights the urge to look over his shoulder and that odd feeling of comfort starts to spread in the pit of his stomach until it’s almost causing him physical pain, and when he hears Liam say  _“let’s go”_  under his breath, Louis bites his tongue, closes his eyes, and lets Liam lead him back through the doors without another word.


End file.
